


Caged Bird

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Thief (Video Game 2014), Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Assassins, Betrayal, Branding, Complicated Relationships, Drugs, Garrett Challenges a God and has some Regrets, General Corvo Attano, Gods, High Chaos Corvo Attano, Imprisonment, Injury Recovery, Jenivere is a shapeshifting Pagan witch, Low Chaos Daud (Dishonored), M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Military, Pagan Gods, Shapeshifting, Slavery, Slow Burn, Sorcerers, Spies, Swords & Sorcery, Torture, kingdoms and shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-23 16:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21323068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: "I'm booooored! I need some excitement in my life." Garrett twisted around on the seat, knocking the book off the edge of the sofa as he sat up on his elbow. "You need to find me something to do, I swear by the Trickster I've already stolen everything of importance in this city….twice.""Don't let him hear you say that!" Basso hissed with startled urgency."I mean it Basso."-----Garrett finds that cursing the Trickster and muttering half-hearted challenges to the Old God are an easy way to end up in very unpleasant places. The Old God has a twisted sense of humor and Garrett isn't laughing when he winds up in the chains of slavery on the wrong side of the border. Stranded in a country he doesn't know surrounded by people who despise him for the foreigner he is, his only hope is the Imperial General Corvo Attano, but the price may be a bigger cost than he's willing to give. Thrust into the world of spies and assassinations while battling the nobility for the rights of free men, the thief's skills come in handy in ways he hadn't anticipated and his heart is slowly swayed by the careful hands of the man who took away his chains.All Garrett wants is to go home.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Garrett (Thief)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 50





	1. Glasses Houses + Stones

**Author's Note:**

> So against all logic, while juggling two long fics I decided to start another. 
> 
> Hydrophobia is on pause for the time being and I will be juggling updates between Caged Bird and Poor Man's Poison. 
> 
> This fic was inspired by my desire to just write Garrett slaughtering some annoying harpies and it turned into something completely different but still incredibly fun. I hope to knock out a good chunk of the story and start digging into plot soon. I love writing fantasy content, anyone who knows me knows I adore it so that will entice me to keep on churning out chapters!

“Taffin harpies!” The thief spit angrily, staring at the creatures that flitted about the merchant cart he’d been preparing to ambush. The pass was narrow, the steep rocky walls that lined the canyon offered a vantage point over unwary travelers that slipped through the rocky crags and crevices. It was an easy enough spot for him to settle into, he had plundered enough passersby on his own with the aid of the boulders that choked off the mouth of the pass. Only the most eager to reach the city would claim this route and that often meant merchants skirting around the Baron’s taxes and waypoints.

What Garrett hadn’t anticipated was the unusual migrating flock of harpies that moved into the pass and made it their new home. The nests were fresh and barely constructed yet. He found signs of their refuse all along the cliff sides where prey had been dropped to their deaths before being devoured by the sharp beaks. Bones and sinew strangled the branches of a tree growing through the snarled rock face, dark vines dried out from the harsh rays of sunlight that scorched the rocks coiled downwards. An easy enough foothold for his light frame as he scaled the cliffs.

It no longer felt necessary for him to remain. The merchants huddled into their carts as the slow old oxen that pulled it was victim to the talons and beaks that tore at its hide. The dark fur turning slick as the lumbering beast bucked and pulled to get away. The screams of a noble woman sliced through the air, egging on the frustrated grumbling of the thief. His job wasn’t to save damsels in distress or the fat merchants that lined their pockets but maybe, just this time, he could turn the fumble into something advantageous. Maybe persuade a reward out of the man while his fingers worked the rest from his pouches when he wasn’t looking. Afterall, he was risking his neck for this lot and he intended to be fairly compensated for the wasted time.

He sighed, his gaze tracking a circling Harpy above as he judged the distance. He gripped the claw on his hip, pulled the length of rope to its limit and swung the tool. The harpy swooped, Garrett grimaced as the weight of the hook managed to fall just fast enough to catch the back of the creature’s body. It dug into the feathers and flesh, sinking in far enough to hold as Garrett swung himself off the cliff. The harpy tilted from the added weight, screeching loudly as it tried to correct itself with furious flapping. He adjusted the rope, bracing it against his shoulder as he pulled the bow from his back. A quick flex of the trigger and it sprang into action, knocking a broadhead arrow quickly. The harpy angled, causing him to swing into the rock face nearby. He braced his boots against the boulders and kicked off of it, his body swinging around and forcing the creature to twist with the force. 

Holding his breath, he aimed and exhaled as fingers released the arrow, sinking into one of the unwary harpies below. The beast was pinned to the ground, writhing as its wing was tacked into the earth. Garrett had little time for a second shot even as he knocked his next arrow. The creature he was tethered to was growing weak from the extensive effort, flapping wildly before diving to the ground. He managed to wrench the claw free of its body, dropping him the short distance to the ground and rolling out the momentum. He up-righted himself with a crouch, a quick slide of mismatched eyes took in his next target, sinking another arrow into the swooping harpy. He tucked to the side, diving beneath the wagon as talons narrowly missed his side.

The wounded harpy landed on the other side of the wagon. Dark pools of blood leaked across the dusty earth as it wobbled and screeched, broken wing distorted from the claw snagging the fragile bones on the way out. It keeled to the side and writhed before letting out a final shrill song. Its twisted avian face splattered in grime with gnarled beaks parted. Garrett felt only a shred of sympathy for the creature but they were brutal violent beasts that kill without a second thought. He’s had enough encounters with their ilk to be content with his actions. The soft whine that left its chest left it in silence.

The last harpy that lingered had fled upon realizing its companions were quickly dispatched. The distraught cries echoed in the canyon walls as he carefully crawled out of the cool shade into the scorching sun. He returned his bow back into its snug position on his quiver and flicked the blood off of the claw, grimacing at the fatty bits and feathers that still clung to its hooks. He let out a defeated sigh and slipped it back onto his belt, the rope carefully wound back up. He started the tedious task of retrieving his arrows as the occupants of the cart started to gather their wits. 

“You can come out now.” Garrett called, stepping towards the wounded Ox that breathed heavily. The strong foul breath brushing against his chest as he gently ran fingers along its jaw. The beast groaned, muscles quivering in its back and flank where blood pooled down to its hind quarters. It didn’t look like anything deep but he feared for the creature with the rate of infection. He just hoped that its owners cared about it enough to tend to it in the city.

His gaze shifted from the big brown eyes that watched him with wary breaths, his palm rubbing along the length of its neck as the beast bellowed out a plea for help. He hushed softly, murmuring to the beast as shuffling carried from inside the cart. The merchant was the first to emerge. Just as large as Garrett though, he was a wealthy well fed boar of a man draped in the finest silks for his station. Bright greens and deep royal blues that stood a stark contrast to the bleak red soil of the canyon rocks. He was a short squatty man, bald, red faced and sweaty. Garrett shifted away from the Ox, his hand trailing along its side to sooth the creature still before drawing his hand away to avoid the sticky trails of blood.

“Oh my.” The man grumbled, staring at his would be savior with calculated scrutiny. His face scrunched up, chubby cheeks pressing up into beady dark eyes. It made the thief wonder how the man could even see it all. He stifled a snort and considered removing his mask. He knew what he looked like to the nobility. A ruffian. A scoundrel. It was the image he found most pleasing when stealing into the night, slipping from shadows into their most private chambers working tumblers and locks without a second thought, palming away their life savings and their _ small _fortunes to trade as his own.

“You are no gentleman.” The man spoke with a deeply foreign accent, curling edges of his speech into something richer in dialect. Garrett would bet it had something to do with the Empire across the border. They were always a strange bunch and had a deep despisal of the common tongue of this land. It was too _ guttural _ and _ barbaric _for their spoon fed tongues to work around. He supposed a merchant would be one of the few to sink low enough to learn the language for the coin it would garner. 

“I never implied I was.” Garrett answered swiftly. The man appeared on edge and put off by his appearance. The land wasn’t rife with knights in shining armor or whatever other fairy tale fantasies people of the Empire liked to dwell on. No city guards would venture this far up into the wastelands and canyons unless an entire military was at their back. They were hardly skilled enough to handle purse snatchers in the Stonemarket Plaza let alone harpies and what other nefarious creatures called the wilds their home.

The man appeared prepared to speak, whatever vulgar obscenities Garrett assumed crossed one’s mind when facing the scum of the earth in all their shadowy allure when a soft voice rose up, equally as eloquent and rich as the man’s. “Papa reward him for his bravery.”

Garrett raised a brow as the young damsel he’d heard screaming for her life finally leaned out of the cart. She was a small petite youth, long fiery red hair that turned a honeyed crimson in the bright sunlight. It burned brightly against her pale skin. A smattering of freckles dotted her cheeks under soft brown eyes. It fell in waves over her shoulders where a long pastel yellow dress adorned her slight frame. She looked hardly old enough for courting age and far too young for perilous travel.

“But darling-” The man turned quickly trying to placate the frown that spread on the young girl’s face. She spoke in a language Garrett wasn’t familiar with, her voice rising as she chided the man with a wagging finger. He looked taken aback, his pudgy features creasing with a grimace as beady eyes flitted towards the thief then back at the girl, softening upon her visage. A hefty sigh left his chest, something similar to a wheeze caught in his throat. The man drew a handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it. A curse lifted from his tongue towards the dusty canyon winds that skirted around the edges in rare storms. Garrett could sympathize with that. The number of times he’s had to shake his gear out for sand and clean the springs in his bow to prevent it from blocking the mechanisms was too many to count and almost not worth the risk it entailed. The coin was too good to pass up in the end.

The man gave into his daughter’s imploring and produced a rather sizable pouch of coin for Garrett’s trouble. Of course, while discussing the situation at hand and the concerns about the man’s unfortunate Ox, he did manage to slip a few valuables into his pocket from the cart. The young girl seemed doe eyed as she watched him lead them the rest of the way through the canyon, holding the reins of the Ox as he went. The merchant, for all his dislike of Garrett’s presence took the time to preen and gloat about his fortune and travels. His daughter leaned over the edge of the cart and murmured biting commentary into his ear that earned a few small snickers from the thief.

She slipped him a parting gift of thanks that made him only mildly guilty for stealing from them, but in the end he’d gained enough of a haul to compensate for his losses. He left them before reaching the next waypoint, assured they could make it the rest of the way without any more trouble and ventured back to the city on his own path.

* * *

  
  


“You’re growing soft.” Basso scolded lightly as he rummaged through the rather large pile of trinkets and coins Garrett returned with. The thief had perched himself on the table, his legs dangling over the edge as he set to work scrubbing the blood and bird bits from his equipment. A basin of warm water set beside him, mostly stained a soft cherry red already as he wrung the rag clean between scrubbing. He hadn’t realized how much blood pooled onto his gear and the sheer stench of rot was clinging to him by the time he made it back to the City. Basso could smell him across the cellar beneath the Crippled Burrick tavern, noticing him for once even before he entered. The noise of the evening patrons filled the air, encouraged by drunken revelry and off key singing. A bantering of off duty guardsmen and dockhands alike relished in their daily pay, dropping coins on counter tops and luring in the curious gazes of passing maidens seeking out warm bodies for their cold beds.

The warm glow of the candlelight lit the steadily growing darkness that settled over the city. The shadows extending across the cellar, a considerable temperature drop now compared to the scorching sun that beat on his back all afternoon. The roads were growing more dangerous, his job twisted up into daytime ambushes as he contended with beasts and other bandits in the nighttime hours. The merchants were getting wiser, security becoming tighter and the Baron’s waypoints were looking more appealing to the passing travelers than risking the dangerous wilds. It was hurting Garrett’s coin purse as much as their own.

He cursed under his breath as he eyed the edges of the claw, inspecting the dips and intricate pieces of the prongs for any missed bits of Harpy gore. Seeming satisfied with his work, he set it aside and moved onto scrubbing his leathers. Basso’s appraising look was not lost to him as he focused on something more productive. 

“I got the job done, didn’t I?” He finally spoke when the fence’s attention was growing sharp and his patience thin. The rank of the job was starting to burn his nostrils. He should have returned sooner to cleanse his gear. Harpy fat was a commodity used often for many tools and tonics. It was not at all good for leather. The oils from their glands were good for waterproofing but the fat carried a sort of stench with it that would lure a guard hound from half a mile out. It made him easy to spot when working.

He’d already bathed himself twice, stripped down and dressed in a thin white linen shirt and a pair of bland earthen trousers. He could easily pass as a laborer or dockhand like this, his long black hair tied back into a braid, the sides cleanly shaved around his ears and at the nape of his neck. The rest was wrangled and draped between his shoulder blades. He fidgeted, his legs folded on the table top as he pulled his harness into his lap and scrubbed with more force. His eyes narrowed on the task, working harder until his knuckles caught on the buckles and scraped a line of red across the back of his hand. He hissed through his teeth then sighed, tossing the rag into the basin. 

“I couldn’t let them be killed.” He finally admitted. His gaze fixed on the leather work of his gear all spread across the table with care. Most of it was dusty from his tumble and rolls. A few choice pieces had been splattered with gore and those were the more important problem at hand. He rubbed his fingers over the small cut on his hand, considering the soft burn of pain as it faded. He heard Basso shift from his desk, bypassing the pouches filled with Garrett’s efforts. It was more than enough to compensate the loss. He had taken the most valuable items on the man’s cart when both the young girl and her father were busy tending to their ox.

The merchant was unaware of his fingers in his pockets as he passed by or the look he directed at the cart as he retrieved his tools from the Harpy corpses, cutting away choice pieces from their bodies that could be sold for a hefty price. Talons, beaks and feathers were a novelty that craftsmen would offer considerable coin for. Basso had plenty of contacts that would be eager for the pieces. Nothing about the job had ended in waste. He made out on all sides in the end. Still, something nagged at him. A twitch of concern that burned in his stomach. He dismissed it as the inkling of guilt for stealing from them after the young girl had been kind enough to speak for him. It had to be. 

“I’m not criticizin yer choices Garrett but workin in daylight holds its own risks.” Basso placed a hand on the thief’s shoulder. It wasn’t unwanted, really. Basso practically raised him and helped him off the streets and gave him a purpose. Still, the twisting sensation in his stomach gave him the urge to shrug the hand away. He cursed the rotten stink of the harpy gore for his sickened feelings.

“I don’t have much of a choice now Basso.” He admitted, reaching for the rag again. Basso pushed his hand out of the way, earning a confused look from the thief.

“Get somethin ta eat and take a break. I’ll see if I got somethin fer the harpy shit in my stocks.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards the two large shelves filled to the brim with books, elixirs and other equipment. Basso seemed to have a little bit of something squirreled away in his cellar, which Garrett often times appreciated as much as he teased the older man for his hoarding habits.

“I’m fine.” Garrett hissed, turning back towards the gear laid out. He was rewarded with an arm hooking around his waist and hiking him up into the air. Garrett gasped, flailing slightly out of habit as Basso slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“It wasn’t a request.” He grumbled. “Cripes yer a pain sometimes.”

“Pot to the kettle.” Garrett snapped, but his flailing ceased and he just hung from the fence’s shoulder, one hand braced under his chin as Basso carried him out of the cellar like a fitful child. He wasn’t pleased until the thief was deposited in the kitchen where the cook could keep an eye on him and make him something proper to eat. Garrett was dropped into a chair by a small corner table. A vase of flowers was slowly wilting in the center, the wooden chair groaned beneath the force as Basso loomed expectantly. Garrett gained his balance and resumed his sulking with his palm pinned under his chin.

“Ya two bickerin again?” An older woman called from across the room. It wasn’t anything overly large or extravagant, just big enough to help service the rest of the tavern. The kitchen was separate from the bar, the tavern itself used to be an old barracks at some point, repurposed into a tavern with several rooms upstairs, the main area was a mess and meeting hall and a kitchen in the back. The woman was older than Basso, with salt and pepper hair tied up into a tight bun. A warm motherly smile always greeted her time worn and wrinkled features. Don’t let that fool you, she was a siren song of beauty in her youth with all the rage of the Ocean wound beneath, a calm storm of fury waiting to burst when trouble was started in her tavern. She’s hauled more than a few drunken men out by their ears and put them on the streets with little more than a sharp booming tone and ladle in hand.

The whole neighborhood knew better than to cross the Lady of the Burrick. The patrons called her Mother Jenivere but nobody really knew her real name. There were whispers that she was once nobility while others thought she was a retired servant of the church. She accepted the title graciously and cared for all who took shelter in her little establishment. Including Basso and Garrett who were in some strange way, like adopted sons.

Basso turned towards the woman as she approach, one hand still whisking away the bowl tucked under her elbow working flour into a thick batter. Behind her the brick oven baked two fresh loaves for the evening meals and a large pot bubbled with a hearty venison stew. Basso pressed a kiss to her cheek in greeting, straightening up to turn both their dark eyes onto him as if he were a child caught tantruming. “Can ya make sure he eats somethin? He’s being fickle.”

“I’m not fickle.” Garrett snapped back, brows creasing with discontent as his tone reflected how he currently felt. He tore his gaze away and pinned it on the wilting daisies that slumped in the vase. They had to be a couple days old already. His nose twitched with the urge to sneeze but he wrinkled it and dismissed the sensation.

“Ya are.” Jenivere confirmed. “S’probably cause yer hungry child.” She eyed him as if his small wiry figure were enough to answer that. Garrett grimaced as his traitorous stomach growled in agreement. She laughed, turning away with her bowl in hand and set it near the oven so the dough could rise. She returned with two fresh slices of bread and a large bowl of stew. Seeming content with the sight, Basso waved himself dismissed and returned to the cellar.

Garrett pushed the food around indignantly, his spoon stirring the bits of venison and hunks of potatoes around in idle circles. It earned him a click of the tongue from Jenivere and a gentle swat to the back of the head. “Stop playin with ya food!”

Garrett grumbled something under his breath but was silenced by her stern look that dripped with parental disapproval. He relented after a few minutes, his grumbling stomach winning out against his stubborn pride as he spooned the cooler chunks of stew into his mouth. She returned with a tankard of goat’s milk, setting it aside and dropping a hand to ruffle hair with silent maternal praise before returning to wash more vegetables in the sink and prepare them for tomorrow's breakfast. Garrett broke pieces of bread off and soaked up the broth, eventually working it down until nothing remained and he almost felt sick with how full he was. She came to appraise the empty dishes before permitting him to scamper on out of the kitchen back to the cellar where he found Basso was halfway through a bottle of ale and already finished sorting through Garrett’s haul. A large blue glass bottle sat next to his gear with a fresh rag, awaiting use.

Garrett relished in returning to his task, standing over the table as he treated his leather with the solvent that worked away the harpy stench. He waited for it to dry then treated it with another clear bottle of oil to layer his waterproofing back on it and hung it up to dry on a rack against the wall. The light that peaked in through the windows in the morning would do a good enough job warming it to finish it off. He turned in in the early hours of morning when the Burrick quieted down and the last patrons stumbled their way through the streets back home. Basso was already asleep, his large form hunkered into his bed. Garrett found a comfortable spot on the sofa pressed against the wall and sprawled across it with a spare blanket. Normally he would return to his home in the old bell tower but the morning was growing near and he was too tired to make the trek and risk the climb in the grey light of dawn.

He slept through a good portion of the day, rousing around late afternoon when the Burrick was growing more active. Dockhands wandered in to find a bite of lunch and a drink to cool their parched throats. The smell of fresh baked bread wafted down into the cellar. The bright light filtering through the windows was a welcome sight as Garrett stretched like a lazy feline. The warmth washing over him as he sighed, twisting on the sofa eliciting a few very satisfying pops from his back and shoulders. His fingers curled together to flex his biceps and draw one last crack from his joints before relaxing. The urge to roll off the sofa was low, the thin blanket draped haphazardly over his small frame half pooled onto the floor. A pitcher of water sat on the table beside him with a tin of dried apricots presumably left by Basso.

The fence was nowhere in sight, which was typical this time of day. He had contacts to get in touch with and clients would clamor to meet with him when it was least suspicious. He shifted just enough to pour himself a tankard of water before pushing himself up to his feet. Stealing an apricot from the tin, he popped it into his mouth and let the sip of water re-hydrate it. His gear had been pulled off the rack and folded neatly on the table. The morning laundry rested in its place, the soft scent of lavender curled to meet his nostrils plucking out nostalgic memories of Jenivere’s doting figure leaned over him. That was back when he was a child from the street caught stealing food from her cupboards. She had come in from washing the tavern’s linens, the smell of lavender heavy on her hands as she snatched him up by the scruff and gave him a good shake like a problematic alley cat.

Garrett would be ashamed to admit it, but the stern talking to that she gave him back then had brought the fragile orphan to tears. The motherly nature she carried and the gentle soothing touch as she fixed him a proper meal that wasn’t stale bread and apple scraps had tore down his walls. Basso had been startled to find Garrett sat down in the kitchen, that having been the third or fourth run in he’d had with the orphan. With a few scolding words from Jenivere and some very uncharacteristic embarrassment on Basso’s end, Garrett had joined their ragtag little makeshift family in the tavern. He spent a lot of years hunkered down on the cellar sofa, working through the nights with Basso, learning all the tricks of the trade and tailoring a few of his own along the way.

Back then he would have to say, he was a troublemaker and gave the pair a lot of grief along the way, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. They were the closest thing to family he had, no matter how much of a pain in his ass they were some days. He relied on that fondness, it kept him going and helped him through the hard times when work was short and the nights were long. 

Garrett rifled through his equipment, pleased that the stench of harpy had disappeared thanks to the solvent Basso supplied. He tilted the leather of his harness to one side and tipped the tankard just enough to puddle some of the water onto it. He swiped a thumb over the area and smiled softly to himself, pleased the waterproofing had also worked. He set his tankard aside, returned to the sofa to steal another apricot from the tin and collected some of Basso’s most recent documents, shuffling through the available jobs for anything of interest. Most of them were for simple trinkets, forging documents or the sparse few requests for creature parts. 

Garrett wasn’t a beast hunter, he wasn’t prepared to take on a flock of harpies or chase wolves through the wilds. There were a small few in Basso’s circle who specialized in that sort of work, trading and selling in toxins, tonics and elixirs for the deadlier side of the business. Especially since the Baron's laws on religion and the illegal use and trade of beast parts was a constant threat hanging over their heads, which only a select few groups could get away with the work under the Baron's nose. 

Garrett carried just enough supplies on jobs to handle potential beasts such as the harpies in the canyon pass. Were they an older flock that had been nesting there for a while, he would have been easily overwhelmed and possibly even killed himself. He lucked out that they had recently moved into the pass and made his work a little easier along the way. Scavenging parts never hurt if the work was already done and the coin was good. Not enough to entice him into beast hunting, but nice enough as a side bonus.

Seeing nothing of use in the pile, he set it aside with a defeated noise in his throat. Garrett didn't have the tools to forge documents and he wasn't interested in petty theft with next to no reward. That was novice work really. The big contracts had all but slowed to a halt and he was growing itchy with restless energy. Even resorting to highway robbery at this point for a little extra kick in his routine. He feared he would get rusty by time any worthwhile jobs reared their head. As much as he enjoyed spending time with Jenivere in the tavern kitchen or helping Basso organize his notes, there was a terrible boredom with all the monotony of mundane tasks. It sparked his interest enough when he was a youth still learning the trade but now that he was well versed in the craft, it was background noise to his days.

He had spent a good hour alone reorganizing Basso's books by alphabetical order, situating all of his supplies on the shelves after thoroughly dusting them and even rearranged the set up of the cellar to give it a more refreshing touch. The fence returned just short of supper time and paused at the entrance, green eyes gazed suspiciously at the thief now sprawled half over the arm of the sofa. His legs hanging over it and a book held above his head.

"What're ya up to?" The question was placed with careful scrutiny as he picked his way to his desk, now sitting near the door where the table had been previously. The bed had been moved to the opposite side of the room and the table took up the spot where the sofa had been. The sofa was moved to just below the window to catch all the evening sunlight that warmed Garrett's pale form. His shirt rumpled up to mid chest where he wiggled his way down the cushions and swayed his feet idly against the arm. The pillows were stacked up behind him to cradle his head.

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." Basso hissed, fully entering the cellar with an awkward sense of confusion in his own home. His gaze drinking in the new sensation of controlled chaos, already anticipating the frustration of days to follow in reacquainting himself with his own belongings. This wasn't the first or even the second time Garrett's rearranged the cellar when something was up. "What'd'ya do?"

"Nothing." Garrett dropped the book to hide his face as he groaned. "I'm booooored! I need some excitement in my life." He twisted around on the seat, knocking the book off the edge of the sofa as he sat up on his elbow. "You need to find me something to do, I swear by the Trickster I've already stolen everything of importance in this city…._ twice. _"

"Don't let ** _him_ ** hear you say that!" Basso hissed with startled urgency. Garrett rolled his eyes and flopped back down on the sofa as the fence stalked around his desk.

"I mean it Basso. I'm losing my mind here." He grumbled.


	2. Broken Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett takes a job he will regret.

Garrett's luck appeared to be looking up. Before supper had passed, both he and Basso returned to the cellar to find a note waiting for the fence, curled in the clutches of a messenger dove's talons. It relinquished the note with some coaxing, a carefully written request for the fence to meet up to discuss the details of a potentially big job. It had been a fortnight since the last major job came their way and Garrett was already itching for the details before Basso even had a chance to leave the cellar. The meeting was brief, held in the back of a shop run by an apothecary. Yet another one of Basso's close circle of associates that often bought what beast parts Garrett would bring back while gallivanting through the wilds.

The client kept their identity secret for the most part which wasn't anything new, the apothecary filled him in on the details and passed a document across the table for the fence to examine. On it was a description of the desired item, a very valuable jewelry piece owned by the late Lord Volpe who recently passed in his sleep a week earlier. The client was interested in procuring the item before the Lord's assets were dispersed among his remaining kin. Easy enough work that Garrett's done a thousand times over.

The thief was excited when Basso handed him the document with the target item on it. He quickly inspected the design, marveled at the details of the craftsmanship and cursed himself for not snatching that little beauty up for himself a long time ago. He actually hadn't been aware of its existence before and vaguely remembers raiding a Volpe residence for their fortune and a very rare painting in the process. He shrugged, assuming it was a newer piece to their collection and that he hadn't taken all of their fortune yet.

It took two nights of reconnaissance to scout out the estate and observe the guards as they patrolled. They were lazy in their rotations, lingering too long in areas closest to the fires, warming their hands and cursing the nip in the night air. It was an unusually chilly evening for this time of year which Garrett relished in. He didn't enjoy the cold spells or even the idea of winter altogether but a nip in the air was better than the oppressive humidity that made his job so much harder. Sweaty palms did not make for a promising haul, that was for sure.

He adjusted his bow, fingers curling around the grip in anticipation as he counted the potential entry points. There was a very large tree in the courtyard, its branches reaching over the wall bearing sweet fruit. The canopy was thick enough for him to easily hide in as he made his way to the upper floor balcony. There was a cellar on the ground level, opposite the tree and a pavilion in the garden that he could use for cover to avoid two passing guards should he need to. He wasn’t certain the cellar was connected to the upper floor of the house and decided against sneaking in through there lest he trap himself between a dirt wall and an unsuspecting guard.

There was another side with a servants door on the ground floor but two guards had been stationed nearby. They were heavy in conversation but more alert than their counterparts. He could see from his perch, that one guard on the upper floor balcony would come out to stand in the night air once every hour, a pipe held in hand as he lit up and puffed clouds of smoke into the cool night air. Garrett had managed a few glimpses through the open door and noticed there was nobody guarding the room beyond the balcony, the smoking guard seemed to utilize that moment of freedom. There was a single torch posted on the balcony, easily put out if it became problematic.

By the third night, he was more than ready. The exterior wall of the estate was lined with large decorative boulders and lined with shrubbery just within, vines grew along the edges with large sharp thorns and bright white blossoms that glinted in the moonlight. It was enough to ward off any curious thieves from scaling the rock work. That didn’t stop Garrett. He crouched against the wall, mindful of the plants as he timed the guards wandering by, listening into their conversation as the passing pair spent more time talking than sweeping the shadows. He knocked a rope arrow and sunk it into a sturdy branch, giving a testing pull before hoisting himself up the length and into the tree. He had to move carefully to avoid knocking the fruit from the branches. His hands bracing the perch as he carefully climbed higher in the branches, palms flat as he hoisted himself up and balanced precariously across the longest of the branches. A carefully timed leap had him across the gap and onto the balcony ledge.

He slunk over the ledge and pressed against the wall just as the balcony door opened. The guard meandered out, sweeping the tree with old wrinkled eyes. His jaw crooked, one hand rising from the scabbard on his hip where it rested habitually and started to dig out the pipe from his pouch and the packet of tobacco he kept on hand. Garrett slipped behind him, shielded from the torchlight adjacent to him as he wrapped an arm around the man’s neck, pulling him back towards the wall. His struggles were quickly silenced, the pipe fell with a soft clatter before Garrett lowered the unconscious form to the ground. He adjusted him to the corner of the balcony, resting the pipe in his hand and arranging his body like he’d simply fallen asleep on shift.

The interior of the estate was cozy to say the least. The rooms were decorated in deep reds, browns and golds. The wood furniture was elegantly carved in a style not quite native to the City and its usual nobility. It was pleasing to the eye, not as gaudy as the local nobles and only minutely tasteful in Garrett’s opinion. A quick glance around secured his suspicion that he’d entered through the Lord’s office. The dark wood desk was organized neatly, large shelves lined one wall with both foreign and familiar books. Statuettes of griffins and carvings of the honorable beasts were prominent and used like bookends. Carved in a strange sort of bone he wasn’t familiar with. It didn’t quite hold the luster and shine that Ivory did but still held a similar alluring quality.

Garrett picked out two of the more expensive looking pieces before moving on. He sidestepped the lounge sofa and ignored the ugly painting of a ship hunting whales, the water depicted a deep red as the large behemoths surfaced with spears in their sides and pain in their eyes. The violent scene lacked the honor it was trying to depict in the “bravery” of the sailors wielding harpoons and ropes. He pilfered a photo frame that held the sketch of a young woman. The frame itself was made of silver and decorated with jewels on the corners. They were small but large enough to fetch a decent price.

A few more overpriced jeweled paperweights, a gaudy quill and ink set, and one very tasteful recipe book that Garrett was saving for Jenivere later, he finally made his way through the upper floor and into the master bedroom. He closed the door behind himself as he called upon the trickle of magic curling behind his right eye. A wisp of blue smoke wavered in front of his vision, cloaking his gaze in washed out world of whites, blues and greens. The brightest colors guiding his hand as he disarmed the trap hidden behind the nightstand. The wires led to a nearby painting, yet another murder of a sea creature though this one was beached and the man standing upon the carcass held an unnervingly familiar flag in blue and gold.

The ache of concern rekindled in his stomach, twisting suspicion as he paused to inspect the canvas. His fingers gingerly outlining the flag with its golden details of two swans bowed to a crown, trying to recall where exactly he’d seen it before. It wasn’t anything in the City, every banner under the Baron’s rule was a morbid cast of red and black. Maybe one of the islands off the coast, he surmised. He had seen it at some point but the tickling need to know the answer would bother him for days to come. He resigned to asked Basso when he returned with the items, if anyone knew it would be the fence and it would keep Garrett from going insane trying to pull at the edges of his mind where the answer seemed to sit so enticingly out of reach.

Ignoring the itch at the back of his mind, he shoved his concerns aside and continued with his work. Three pressure triggers around various locations of the painting rewarded Garrett with a click as the whole canvas swung away from the wall. Behind it, the hidden safe. Dropping to kneel, he withdrew his lockpicks and worked the tumblers free of their mechanism and pulled the steel door away. Within was a more ravishing sight than the sketch implied. A large red plumage of jewels set carefully on a wooden pedestal. The polished onyx beading only made the rubies more brilliant in their splendor as the thief lifted the item and admired the glimmer. His lips quirked beneath his mask, satisfaction bubbling up warmly in his stomach as he tucked the piece away in its own pouch. He emptied the pile of gold coins and the emerald brooch into another pouch and made his hasty escape.

It was a quick return out the balcony, leaping to the tree branches as they sprung with his weight. The fruits fell to the ground with a thunk as he scrambled back up and stilled. A nearby guard wandered over to inspect, lifting his torch with hopes the firelight would illuminate the tree’s occupant. Garrett breathed a sigh of relief that he was too high up for the fire to reach the thicker clusters of the branches. His cloak curled around his ankles to hide any potential shine from his tools. After a few minutes, the guard cursed the rotting fruit squashed beneath his feet and the stench of it, wandering back towards the brazier he’d been huddled near earlier in the night.

Garrett waited another couple minutes to ensure the coast was clear before dropping down the rope and prying the arrow out of the branch, taking any evidence of his presence with him into the night.

Garret returned to the Burrick cellar with pockets heavy and spirits full, depositing his haul on Basso’s desk. The fence was nowhere to be seen but he noted the hasty scrawling across a piece of parchment with the location of the drop off. He pawed through a few other documents, reading over some new jobs that came in the last three days. Still nothing of note that snagged his attention. He waited half an hour, wondering if the fence would return before calling it a night. He found a free scrap of paper, taking up a pen and drawing his best approximation of the flag he saw earlier with a simple question. 

_ Saw this but can’t remember where its from. Help me out please! _

Then added quickly at the bottom.

_ Book for Jenivere _

_ Gonna deliver drop point _

_ Will stop by later for payment _

Seeming satisfied, he left while the hours were still early before the morning market came alive. The streets were mostly deserted this late in the night, the drunkards had scrambled off to their respective corners to sleep off their booze, the Blossoms of the local brothel had turned in with their patrons and the guards had grown lazy in their routine in the scant few hours before daylight and shift change. Garrett wandered the rooftops, cutting across allies and skirting the edges of the market square, ducking from torchlight as the occasional guard passed, hand resting on their scabbard and eyes dimmed by exhaustion and an eagerness to go home.

The drop point wasn’t too far out of the way, just a slight detour from his normal route back to the bell tower. Basso had promised the job done by dawn but Garrett made a habit of leaving the target in a secret alcove, easy for the client to find but not enough so that passersby could accidentally discover it. It was a small nook just out of view, hidden behind a weak board on the side of a building, a loose brick that would be easily overlooked by the unknowing eye pried carefully free. He placed the necklace within, wrapped in a protective cloth sack and returned the brick to its place. He kept one ear to the rest of the street as he moved through the shadows. His head on a swivel and feet light on the damp stonework. The shift of a shadow nearby caught his attention. A flash of blue in his vision and red blotted out his view as a body rushed up on him from around the corner.

He stumbled back, twisting to flee when a heavy weight dropped down from above, heavy rope and weights clattering with the stones, ear piercing whistles slicing the night as large men rushed into the alley. Garrett tried to push the net off of him as it forced him to kneel. He reached for the knife in his boot but a fist met his stomach and knocked him onto his back.

A familiar heavily accented voice entered the cacophony of noise as armed men pinned him to the stones and forced him to stay on his back while the net was removed. Large calloused hands pulled and twisted his limbs, prying his weapons off of his person and binding his wrists with iron shackles. The cold clasp tightened painfully against his wrists as he stifled a wince. Garrett grit his teeth as he turned to face the man now standing before him. The blue and green silks of his attire stood out against the greyscale of the alley and the dark leathers of the men around them.

“You thought you could pull a fast one on me _ thief _?”He spit the word like it was something foul in his posh noble accent. The dark beady eyes scowled at him, porkish features scrunched up like a sick boar as he sneered. A harsh slap of skin met his cheek, the hard scrape of the man’s rings dug into his flesh and dragged crude red lines across his jaw. “Hm, you’ll soon be right where you belong, scraping amidst the gutters like all the other trash out there. If you’re lucky.”

A larger man with a burn across one side of his face turned to meet the merchant, passing a pouch of coin to his well decorated palms. Garrett watched with the bitter sting of bile rising in his stomach as they spoke in a foreign language. The cleaner curl of syllables was far different than anyone native to the area, the curl of satisfaction in the larger man’s gruesome features made Garrett’s heart sink into the pit of his stomach. He twisted his wrists in the shackles, feeling out the grooves of the locks and the length of chain between his wrists. His efforts were rewarded with another hard punch to the stomach and barked orders he couldn’t understand. Pain burst in his chest as another punch followed up and all air was forced from his lungs. His eyes widened as he was shoved onto his back again, one man pressed a knife to his throat while another gripped his jaw tightly, forcing his lips apart. A green vial entered his vision as they pulled the stopper free and forced it down his throat. He struggled, coughing up the liquid. His head fought the grip but the man was relentless, clamping his jaw shut causing his teeth to clatter together painfully.

His vision swam as he was forced to swallow or suffocate. The liquid was bitter sliding down his throat, burning like strong alcohol against the back. He gagged, twisting beneath their hold as the tip of the knife bit into the top layer of his skin drawing a thin red line against his jaw. The man drew the knife away as Garrett coughed and heaved but the second man refused to let go of his head, keeping his mouth shut and even pinching his nostrils closed. His vision blurred, the shadows blending together and blinking out of view altogether. Bright pops of color were brief reprieves as he struggled to keep his eyes open, the firm grip fading to a numb tingle of sensation before even those phantoms vanished and he was lost to the drug’s effects.

* * *

The night had hung on, the last patrons left the Burrick with a considerable amount of effort compared to when they entered. Jenivere was cleaning up the dishes, carrying the basin of dirty water to the street out back where she tossed it, her long slender time worn fingers snagging a stray strand of white hair out of her eyes. The flutter of movement pulled her attention as tawny wings descended from above to stand before her. The wide dark eyes stared unblinking, talons scraping the stone work as the owl screeched. Her fascination with the creature's appearance was short lived when Basso’s voice rose from the cellar below. She dropped the basin in a rush towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. The fence’s anger bellowed out as she wrenched the door open. She found the normally casual man looking disheveled, leaned over his desk. The efforts of a well made haul were scattered across in an array of shiny offerings but displeasure was the only thing present in their stead. Basso had a piece of parchment crumpled into a tight white knuckled fist, anger boiling beneath the surface.

“Basso?” Jenivere called softly, her voice coaxing the man to straighten up and turn darkened eyes towards the doorway. The tension in his shoulders caused her to step back, recognition flickered before distress replaced his fury. He relaxed his hold on the parchment, smoothing the hastily scrawled note over for better reading.

“We’ve been had.” Basso admitted, holding up the paper for Jenivere to see.

The image was amateur at best but the writing was easily comprehensible as Garrett’s. Her concerns were brought to the forefront upon seeing the imagery of the flag. The Imperial crest.

“Basso, where’s Garrett?” Her voice rose suddenly as the fence crumpled the paper back up. Her answer came with the furious silence. 

“Where’s the drop to be?” 

“Near the market in the old nook.” Basso turned to her with dwindling hope. “He’s gotta be alright.” The words seemed to be a failing attempt at persuading himself. It wasn't the first time Garrett had taken the initiative and delivered a mark himself. Typically a task reserved for long time clients. Basso had no qualms over the decision. But both of them knew nothing good ever came from the Empire. Basso clung to the hope that Garrett was wary enough to avoid being caught and his fears were the product of an overprotective disposition. 

Jenivere reached over to press a firm hand to his shoulder. “He’s a child of shadow with the Trickster’s heart.” It was a sparse reassurance as Basso tensed.

“** _He’s _ **what I’m worried about.” The tightness of his jaw and the flex of fingers cracked in the quiet. Jenivere nodded, dismissing herself with soft steps retreating out of the stairwell. A cocoon of green vapor wrapped around her like a cloak drawn from shadows at the edges of her fingertips, rolling down her shoulders and spreading along her arms. A flash of soft white light as her skirts turned to feathers and her body folded in on itself, wings outstretched as she swooped into the air, considerably smaller now than her human form. Her white and black body taking flight high above the buildings as she tracked familiar routes through alleys and across the rooftops of the thieve’s highway.

The owl’s omen in the street had been a heavy burden on her heart. Basso’s fears were warranted. The Trickster offered warning but his intentions were not always kind, as it were with all gods in the old ways. It took little time for her to pinpoint the alley Basso had mentioned. Her eyes settled on the shadows, prying figured in the grey light of early morning. The hearty laughter of unpleasant accents and torchlight bobbing where men lurked. Several minutes ticked by when the group emerged, their peculiar appearance alone was concerning. Even more so when she landed on a rooftop overhang, spotting a large bundle of fabric wrapped in a larger man's arms. The clicking of chains softly swaying, another man lugged a large net over his shoulder.

She stretched her wings and swooped down into the alley, perching on a windowsill more eye level. Her heart tightened with shock as a pale motionless face peeked through the fabric. The familiar sweep of Garrett's cloak wrapped around him. Another man carried his bow and claw haphazardly in hand. Two alley's over a cart waited for them. Garrett's limp body was easily deposited like lifeless cargo as two of the men climbed in behind. Two more took post in the front, drawing the reins of the cart's horses as they maneuvered them out of the alley and into the main street. They bypassed guards without a second thought, two more horses met them further down the street, followed by yet another pair that flanked the cart protectively on all sides.

Jenivere followed them a long time, trailing them out of the city. They traveled to a camp set up on the edges of the Baron's woods where larger carts were kept, metal bars meant for transporting beasts held the terrified huddled bodies of people. Men and women lamenting their fears into the early morning, tear stained faces gazing out at their captors. Hands clutched the bars, desperate for a freedom that would not come. As the cart pulled up to the camp, they made swift work of adding Garrett to the menagerie of captives. His frail pale body stripped of his armor and searched extensively. Only the thin linen shirt and light laborer's trousers he often wore beneath his gear remained to fend off the nip in the night air.

She sat upon his cage, cooing softly to him, trying to rouse the thief from his sleep but as night turned to day and the sun peeked over the horizon, she couldn't risk holding her form much longer. Exhaustion was biting at her heels as she forced herself to take flight and return the grave news to Basso.

She returned later in the evening, perching atop his cage once more and inspecting the feverish writhing of the thief. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, his long dark hair unfurled from the ties that once bound it in a carefully prepared braid. His shackles were absent now, the front of his shirt torn where a fight had been had. Blood smeared the collar, dried against his lips. His eyes opened, a barely lucid flutter as he called out to her with weak syllables. The barely audible whisper was almost overwhelmed by the screams of another prisoner. Their body dragged from the adjacent cage by large leather clad men, blades held to the young man's throat as they threatened him with their foreign tongue.

Garrett watched through a half lidded gaze as they forced the man to his knees, his arms wound tightly behind his back. The other captives cried out and whimpered fearfully in their corners as the guards - _ slaver _s Jenivere had come to realize, lifted a hot iron brand to the man's stomach. It scorched the flesh with a sickening hiss, his screams turned to broken whimpers as he collapses at their feet. The slavers dragged him back up to kneel, using a pair of metal tongs and a strong grip, they pried his mouth open and took a hot blade to his tongue, severing the muscle from its place and letting it fall into the hot embers below. Their bellowed laughter silenced any further sounds from the man as he quickly lost consciousness.

Jenivere flexed her wings, head bobbing as she turned her attention back to Garrett. The thief was huddled in the corner, his head turned away from the gruesome sight. Nausea sparked swathes of discomfort that trembled throughout his fragile form. The pallor was starker now, the sickness taking toll inside. He closed his eyes and willed away the reality of his predicament. All she could offer was soft coos to soothe his fears. They were short lived as the man was returned to his cage and the slavers moved to open Garrett's.

She fought the urge to swoop at them, offering only protesting caws to rouse the thief. The scant hope that he could muster the strength to fight back. Whatever they'd done to him, he was limp limbed as they dragged him out by his ankles. He hit the ground with a groan, corralling just enough energy to lift his head to avoid hitting the ground before he was hauled to his feet with a sharp jerk of his shoulders. He groaned, his feet barely touching the earth as he was carried to the fireside. A different brand was pulled from the fire as the slavers considered in idle conversation, which to properly use on the thief.

Time seemed to slow as Garrett squirmed in their grip. He managed to slip an arm free only to be pinned flat out on the ground. They snatched his left arm and dragged it across the earth. A hard boot standing on his hand while the second slaver held him into the dirt with firm palms. They pressed a bird shaped brand into his arm, the sizzle of flesh ushered the barest scream from his chest. He fought to silence himself, quieting his fears as they let it sit until the blackened mark was unmistakable and Garrett had gone limp under their hold. They promptly carried him back to the cage, dumping him into his solitary cell before moving onto the next cluster of captives.

His eyes fluttered open weakly, gazing up at Jenivere where she perched high above him. His right hand reaching out to her, fingers intertwining as they flicked the tips of her tail feathers. The conflicted look that shadowed his face dug into her heart, the tears that welled up upon realizing she was actually there, sat above him and bearing witness to the horrors he would be faced with. His face twisted into a grimace, the choked sob silenced as quickly as it came. He curled up into the corner, cradling his left arm gently and he turned his back to the rest of the world.


	3. Featherless Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett is faced with the reality of his situation.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were doing. Garrett had enough of a mind left after the haze of drugs they forced into his system over the course of several days. Any captives that fought back were dosed, any who pleaded or talked too much to the rest got their tongues cut out. All of them had been branded but each had a different mark. A couple of the men and most of the women had been marked with the same bird shaped symbol as Garrett. Always on the left arm, just below the elbow on the more resilient exterior layer of skin. Garrett gently outlined the imagery and came to realize the shape was a close resemblance to a hummingbird with its long beak and small size. It could easily be covered with three fingers extended over it, made to be hidden in plain sight but easily found when sussing out who belonged where.

The rest of the captives were marked with what appeared to be two interlocking rings just above their naval. Whispers among the captives who spoke his common tongue explained that rings meant manual labor, slaves to be sold as servants and the like. Birds, or more elegantly put, _ caged birds _ were the small few chosen for other tastes. The exotic and obscene. Garrett didn't know rather to be relieved or repulsed. It offered a small opportunity of action. Being a _ caged bird _ meant they wouldn't outright harm or disfigure him. At least, he hoped not. He's seen how they handle the others, the brutality inflicted upon them had little remorse or thought put into it. But when a _ bird _ acted out, they had to take more creative measures in their punishments.

It had been several days since he saw Jenivere. The camp had moved on from wherever they had been based, taking their new collection of stolen cargo and moving deeper into the Baron's forest. A team of horses pulled the wagon train along. The cages were barely concealed from the elements beneath the covered tarps overhead. The cold and rain pelted them the first couple nights. The continuous rocking motion of the wagons left Garrett sick and heaving what little remained in his stomach out onto the path below. He wasn't the only one with the pained sobs and outcry of other ill prisoners. Those drugged like him had been more susceptible to motion sickness.

Being what they were, the birds were taken better care of, if only minutely. Their brands better tended to, if one could call it that. Garrett didn't exactly agree with the bedside manner of the slaver who poured warm alcohol on his brand and wrapped it with a semi clean cloth. They were given a bucket of water to wash with after about four days, a small rag was their only luxury. They moved through the nights and inched along during the day. They had encountered an older flock of harpies when going through a mountain pass but the slavers were well versed in beasts as much as they were with men, and quickly dispatched the nuisance.

Apparently none of them were adverse to gorging on the stinking flesh of the creatures, cooking up the fatty breasts in a meal that made Garrett even sicker than before from the smell alone. Eventually they stopped dosing them and Garrett recovered slowly. His left arm ached where the brand was still fresh and the hollow twisting pain of an empty stomach kept him awake when sleep was so close and his desperation for relief was growing thin. He almost wished they were still drugging them, cause then at least sleep would have come easier.

A warm rain fell during the day when the slavers had camped at the base of the mountain. The forest was thicker here, more dangerous with beasts prowling at night. Garrett had heard the shrill cries that echoed the night before as they pulled up to the riverside that cut through the earth. The jagged rocks battled the rage and fury of the river as it rushed over the slopes. The fresh water was a relief and the slavers seemed only slightly more aware of their cargo's necessity for sustenance. But only after they lost one of the women to dehydration. She was one of the louder more outspoken of the bunch, missing her tongue and branded for labor. She was stockier than Garrett and broadly built. The dark stains on her skin and smudges of her hair hinted that she was a blacksmith's apprentice. The smell of a fire clung to her as naturally as any other scent, the char of coals and heat of a forge that turned her skin to a tough hide of indifference.

That did little to save her now. They pulled her body from the cart, decapitated her head clean off her shoulders and dumped her corpse far into the woods for the beasts to feast on. Garrett assumed the gory display was to dissuade anyone from attempting to fake their deaths with hopes of escape. These men were well aware and thorough in their handling of loss. In the evening they let the slaves out but not before shackling them all together in one big string. They would be paraded around, up and down the banks to stretch their legs. It was more like a long slow shuffle than anything else with so many of them together. The women huddled up making the travel even slower as they whimpered and cried on each others shoulders. The men were quiet, heads bowed in defeat. 

Garrett considered his odds of escape, his gaze fixed down at his feet where his toes dug into the soft mud of the river bank. He leaned down while the group had stopped, some had waded into the water to feel the soil beneath their toes, the others had sat on the bank where they could reach. He stood in between the groups and picked at the broken shells of snails and the small tracks of wildlife as they scavenged for food along the shoreline. The shackles were wearing at his wrists and the ache of raw skin made him wince as he shifted it around. He contemplated the algae that grew on the rocks and his chances of using it to slip free of the chains. It was as good a chance as any, his fingers digging through the muck and slathering the slimy plant life against his wrists. The metal had grown slick after a few careful twists and his wrist started to slip free. He paused in his efforts and started working on the other wrist, taking care not to be noticed by his neighbor though their silence was secured by their lack of tongue even if they did notice.

It felt like an eternity as he wiggled his wrists free, working the shackles off until he was completely out of their biting hold. His skin was rubbed raw and the green slime of the algae was smeared along his arm but he could live with that. He tucked the shackles against his stomach, bunching his hands into his shirt and maintaining the appearance of still being bound. His head hung like the rest of the prisoners when the slavers finally came to retrieve them and usher them back to their cages. One by one they were unlocked and shoved into the cramped spaces in the wagons. 

Garrett timed the guards' attentive looks and dropped to the ground, rolling underneath the wagon to the other side. He scrambled to his feet and made a mad dash for the woods. The weakness in his knees threatened to buckle him, the burning ache of legs no longer accustomed to the physical exertion. He sucked in sharp breaths of cool mountain air, the higher altitude drawing its own struggle with his efforts. He heard the distant screams of the other captives and what he presumed to be cursing from the guards as they scattered to find their missing man.

His bare feet pounded the earth, scaling rocks and jumping over roots to avoid being snagged. Hoof beats thundered behind him as two slavers raced in hot pursuit quickly gaining lost ground with their unfair advantage. Their grizzled voices echoed incoherently off the trees that crowded in around them. Their foreign words meant little to Garrett as he ducked a sword swing, hearing the thunk of metal sinking into the bark as he threw himself to the ground. He narrowly missed being trampled by the man's horse as he crawled across the mossy earth, rolling out of the way a second time. He jumped back to his feet and started in a different direction just as a tangle of rope snagged his ankles. He'd forgotten about the second slaver while the first chased him in circles. The weighted ropes of a bolas kept him immobilized, his fingers grappled to untangle his legs only to be pinned to the ground at the end of a blade. The slavers weren't very happy with his escape, taking their sweet time sinking fists into his stomach until his legs buckled and he gasped for breath.

His head swam, vision bursting with bright colors as he blinked away the nausea and pain. He heaved in broken breaths, feeling the ache deep in his stomach as he was hoisted up. They dragged him back with little fanfare and tossed him back inside his cage. The other captives looked on mournfully, their hopes diminished as he was locked back up. It was a fair enough attempt for now. A bit of trial and error. He wouldn't be taken by surprise again next time.

Apparently neither would be the slavers. They learned their lesson and kept the rest of the captives on a very short leash. Garrett was no longer allowed out of his cage and what sparse few rations he did get for meals was cut down to a third of what he normally would receive. They dosed him for the first time in days and kept him like that until they could get clear of the mountains completely. There were two more escape attempts by other captives and one more death in that time. Another destined for labor had succumbed to infection from their branding. Another captive, a man, had to be separated from the rest when they attempted to cannibalize the corpse sometime in the night. They had already gnawed through a good portion of the dead man's leg and had turned almost feral towards the rest that shared the cage. Two days later they were forced to put him down and dump the body in the woods. 

Garrett's rations had returned only a little. The slavers were more concerned with keeping all of the _ birds _ alive until the end even if the laborers were quickly dwindling. He assumed exotics and pleasure slaves fetched a far higher price than the rest. They were the diamonds in the rough, the hidden jewels that caught the eye of nobility. He didn't see what the slavers did when he looked at himself, he wasn't a woman for starters and he wasn't broadly built, something that a noble mistress would want to warm her bed. His thoughts turned to other ideas that made his stomach twist up unpleasantly. He forced the thoughts away as much as he possibly could, ignored the implications of his branding and what sort of life awaited him on the other side of the border. He didn't let the crippling fear that tore at his chest in the late hours of night claim him entirely. He fought back against it, with venomous words and repetitive whispers of unspoken promises. He was going to get back home. He was going to return to Basso and Jenivere. He was going to _ survive. _ By the Trickster and all his misfortunes, he wasn't going to let this be his end. He was the _ Master Thief _ and if anyone could steal away freedom, it would be him.

It was late in the evening when they passed through a small farming community on the outskirts of the forest. Long stretches of meadow rolled in every direction, carved into sections of fields for plots already being worked by tired farmhands and worn out plow mules. The people of the community kept their heads down, ushering the little ones back in doors. They looked on with sorrow in their eyes, something twisted like pity and revulsion. Garrett couldn’t tell if it was meant for them in sympathy or at them. It knotted something hot and angry up inside his stomach. They weren’t cattle to be sold, they didn’t choose this path. He didn’t know what thoughts the people had about the slavers and their cargo, if they mistook those behind bars for being deserving of their predicament. As if they were criminals for merely existing. As if this wasn’t all by circumstance and a really rotten hand dealt their way.

These were people dragged away from their homes, from their families, brutalized and branded like animals. Traded for coin like a life had as much worth as anyone was willing to bet on. He knew his lot in life, he recognized his worth would only be as much as the wanted posters say, as much as anyone was willing to pay to hang him. He _ knew _that. He expected his end would be at the knot of a rope not serving someone’s bed chamber until his mind and body broke. Not shoved in a cage like beast bait slowly creeping through the woods at mule speed. He least of all expected it to be so far from home. At least if he was hung for his crimes, he would have still had a nice view of his bell tower in the morning light. It was a sick thought but he’s spent more than a few nights perched atop the gallows, inspecting the view as a morbid reminder to maintain care.

As much good as that did him. Work slowed, he got careless, _ sloppy _ and now he was caught. Basso’s liquor roughened warnings bled to the forefront of his mind. On the cold nights after another blackhand’s boots hung in the air, the fence would mourn the only way he knew how. He’d turn a glossy eye towards Garrett and muster his words through the slurred press of his tongue.

_ ‘One. That’s all it takes Garrett. One taffin slip up n’ yer dead. A courtyard decoration fer’the Baron.” _

He’ll admit, he got cocky. He was over excited and made a novice mistake. He made an _ amateur _ mistake. Something so far below him that he would have laughed in another life, laughed until his head rolled because the _ Master Thief _ who’s evaded the Baron and all his men for years, would never make such a simple _ foolish _mistake. 

It burned in the back of his throat, something sour and unpleasant. A foul taste that coated his tongue and made him nausea if he lingered on it too long. He pressed his forehead against the bars, his fingers curled around the cool metal base, letting it soothe his heated skin. The day was warm, the humidity made his clothes stick to his body unpleasantly. The rough linen was worn and chaffing at his skin, leaving rash like patches if he moved too much. His hair was plastered back out of his face by the sheer fact it was greasy and easily malleable. The stray strands that fell in his eyes were a minor annoyance that he gave up on trying to coax back behind his ears.

His attention lifted when the wagons rolled to a slow stop. The horses shifted uneasily as the slavers departed from their rides and started the long tedious task of setting up camp. The sun was beginning to set and the distant howls of predators on the prowl were enough warning to settle in. They lit the campfires and circled the wagons around to protect the center of camp. Darkness descended as one of the slavers, one with a dark cropping of hair sparsely grown atop his head that Garrett had come to notice was mostly in charge of caring for them, moved to each cage and delivered a bowl of watery stew. Each slave was handed their bowl, allowed to come to the door one at a time to retrieve it. If anyone fought or tried to steal from one another, they would be severely punished. If anyone shared their rations, they would be punished. It was a lesson learned early on.

The slaver moved from wagon to wagon until he reached Garrett’s. The thief didn’t need to retrieve his meal, he had nobody to contend with. He remained tucked in the far corner of his cell as the bowl was deposited. The slaver eyed him carefully, his head tilted to the side as if examining something. Garrett lifted his left arm to better expose the brand. The man seemed satisfied with the healed raised flesh and turned to leave. A howl sliced through the air. Startled yelps from other slavers caused the caretaker to turn suddenly. Garrett leaned forward, his hand catching the door as it closed, stopping it just before the lock clicked in place. He caught the gleam of silver fur as a very large wolf darted into the camp. The slavers busied themselves with the creature, swinging swords and torches at it to ward it away. One got a lucky shot in, the whimpers of a wounded hungry wolf followed before a sword was driven through its side. Blood pooled across the trampled grass, the heaved breaths of the beast’s whine faded into silence.

The excitement died down. He collected his bowl and returned to the corner of his cage, sipping at the dish in quiet consideration. It wasn’t much of a meal. Just ground corn with a poultry based broth and a lot of water. There was some root vegetables thrown in but whoever was the cook hadn’t done a very good job of cleaning them. They tasted gritty and bitter. It took effort to force himself to swallow it down and sit the bowl by the bars. In the morning it would be retrieved and replaced with water, as was their routine.

The meal made him ache with a distant sort of yearning for Jenivere’s stews. He kicked himself for all his stubborn refusals, cursed all the times he shouldered away offered breakfast or dinner because he was too caught up in his work to take the time to sit and eat. He would die for a chance to sit at her table again, with Basso at his side and Jenivere across from him. The warm smiles, the idle friendly banter. To hear the stories she would tell late in the evening while he was nestled in with a cup of hot tea and a blanket. Both of them wrapped up on the sofa while Basso sat dutifully working at his desk, or so he liked to make them believe. The fence was eagerly listening, hanging onto every word of her tales, his idle shuffling of papers displayed his distraction when he’d eventually give up, leaned back in his seat with eyes closed, imagining the details of the world she painted with words as skilled as any artists. Tales of the Trickster, stories of magnificent creatures and the plights of wayward gods and their barren children.

He reached up and wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes, working quickly to erase the evidence. A shuddering breath heaved from his chest as he curled up tighter into his quiet little corner. The firelight danced along the edges of his cage, not quite reaching far enough in to expose his sorry state but he was careful to conceal what little weaknesses he still could. His silence dragged on as he watched the slavers steadily fade in their energetic revelry and turn in around the camp. They adjusted their positions to better fend against anymore curious wolves. The dead wolf had already been hauled up to hang from a supply cart, a wooden beam stuck out further past the end, a large hook was drilled into it. Garrett noticed early on that it was a huntsman's station. He had witnessed the slavers hanging the harpies from the hook, butchering their bodies with ease, pulling feathers and other salvageable parts from their corpses. Now a wolf hung, half skinned and meat pulled from the bones with skilled hands.

Garrett waited until a good portion of the men were asleep. What few were left on guard duty were of little concern to him. They were tired and barely paying attention. The distant howls of wolves had faded as the night stretched on. They were growing lax in their care and that’s what Garrett was hoping for. He slowly inched towards the door, his mismatched eyes inspecting the camp for any stray slavers just out of view, feeling satisfied that he was free and clear, he pushed the door open with the utmost care. Most of the other captives had fallen asleep. What few remained awake posed no threat in exposing him. He slipped out of the cage and dropped quietly down to the earth below. A quick glance around before sliding underneath the wagon, scrambling for the shadows on the other side. He tucked himself under the cover of the wheels as a lingering slaver passed by, adjusting his trousers after taking a piss. He grumbled quietly, continuing his pass around the wagon train.

Garrett chanced the opportunity and started to flee into the darkness of the fields. His bare feet picking through the softened earth from the earlier day’s plow work. A stone pressed jaggedly up into the arch of his foot causing him to stumble, pain lanced up his leg as the muscle cramped. He hissed through his teeth, stumbling a bit before regaining his footing and racing towards the stark outline of the farming community. He wasn’t under any wayward impressions that there were friends among the farmers. Not with the looks they aimed his way when they rode through. His target wasn’t the houses that lined the landscape, over the slight cropping of hills that picked up along the meadow. Instead he ran for the nearest barn. He’d seen the farmers usher their mules in at the end of the night, locking them up in the stables. A hay loft was high up in the rafters, the golden piles of straw peeking through the shutters. Easy enough place to hide and bide his time.

In the late hours of night, he doubted anyone would notice as he slipped through shadows. He limped slightly, mindful of the weight he put on his foot as he edged up to the door, pulling the latch open and squeezing through. He stilled upon entry. His eyes falling on the soft glow of lantern light rising from the back stall. His eyes widened, limbs going stiff when a head popped up above the stalls, eyes squinting into the darkness. A voice rose, unfamiliar syllables curling into something foreign to his ears. Long dark hair was tangled with bits of straw as the woman stared him down. The soft baying of a young calf interrupted her concerned inquiries. She snatched up the lantern before Garrett could even move. He twisted towards the shadows of the nearby stall only to be warded off by the panicked mule grunting at him.

The light shone on his face as the woman’s fearful screams sliced through the quiet night air. Garrett jolted, his back pressed against the door as he scrambled for some place to disappear. He held his hands up in a placating gesture but her eyes were wild, her words bared like a blade of accusations as she swung on him. He ducked, lost his balance and sprawled on the dirt floor. He scrambled across the ground to get away as her boot hit him in his lower back. He cursed loudly, a hiss of breath through clenched teeth. Pain curled up his spine as she pressed her boot against his lower back again and applied weight, a crack of bones gave under the pressure. He squirmed, his hand reaching back to wrench at her leg, forcing her off balance and falling back to the ground. He scrambled onto his hands and knees, pushing himself up in a shaky stance as she screamed at him. 

The doors to the barn were thrust open as two large older men burst in with lanterns and tools. Garrett backed away, his hands out where they could see he was unarmed. He stumbled, pain carving up his thigh and into his back pulling a groan from his chest. The men wasted no time cornering him, fists meeting his stomach as the woman ranted angrily, gesturing at her skinned knees where he’d thrown her off. Her hair was a tangle of dark curls and her older features made soured by her rage.

He could only assume one of the farm hands had run to inform the slavers of his escape. Before the first rays of dawn could touch the earth, he was back inside his cage with another dose of the drug forced past his lips. He gagged on its bitter taste and curled up in the corner where the bars were cooler against the expanse of bruising on his back. He cursed the world and the Trickster with all his misfortune and deceit, heaving silent slurs at the entity that Jenivere claims to have blessed him. This was no blessing. There was no good grace or praise from the god of trickery. He may be marked by his magic but his favor is far away from Garrett, with the lesser thieves still free in their trade and safe in their beds.


	4. Home Away Heart

The camp moved after that. The next day they were stopped at a crossroads, taking a break in the early afternoon light. The captives muttered quietly to one another, fear drawing the color from their faces. It was rare that the wagons would stop so soon before sunset unless there was an imminent threat. In the past it had been beasts lurking along the edges of the roads and the risks would be too great. Garrett gazed through the cold iron bars at the terrain. The land was the same hilly expanse he’s seen since leaving the mountain base. There was no signs of beasts roaming the area as their carts bumped along the trails. The roads were well used and worn down with stone signs erected to direct travelers on their way. His best guess was that they were waiting for something or someone. They remained motionless. The slavers seemed disinterested, wandering the surrounding area out of idle boredom than anything else. The caretaker had dragged him to the edge of the cage and dosed him again soon after they stopped. He was force fed a broth that was mostly just warm water with small bits of root vegetables pulverized into globs of mush then shoved back into his corner. 

He didn’t have the energy to resist, the drug sapped the strength out of him. He could hardly muster enough to lift his head without help. Sleep came easily enough. The hours that normally would have stretched by achingly slow had been brief glimpses marked by the shifting shadows of the sun. Near sunset, the expected company had joined them. It was a smaller group. One large wagon held captives, another held supplies and pulling up behind that was a wagon filled with large wolfhounds. Each were collared and kept in cages. Their teeth were bared in warning snarls. The stench of wet dog mingled with the decaying state of filthy unsanitary prisoners. The foul odor had rekindled Garrett’s sense of smell as he wrinkled his nose in shared disgust.

The new group of captives looked mostly to be laborers. They were stocky, broadly built and sturdy. Their pitiful state reflected how little the slavers cared but then again, he guessed he could say the same for their sorry bunch. The dogs appeared to be better cared for which was definitely saying something. They were large with long scraggly dark fur. Their beady eyes reminded Garrett how much he hated them. The flash of incisors stirred discomfort in his stomach as he rolled back over and ignored the rest of the camp.

They stayed the night at the crossroads but by early morning they were packed up and headed out. He caught a repetitive word amidst their conversations, the tone of voice sounded tired. He could only assume it was their destination by the haggard agreements the others chimed in with.  _ Dunwall _ .

The next time they stopped, Garrett expected the caretaker to show up at his door. He was surprised when the man bypassed him entirely and made a straight line for the dog cages instead. The hounds were let out to run, racing up and down the fence line where crops greeted another grassy field and the telltale signs of farmers lingered by the passing cattle that grazed beyond carefully constructed fences. He ignored the man when he did finally get around to his cage, he opened it with little fanfare and delivered the meal for the evening. Garrett made no move to take it and the caretaker was unconcerned by his lack of enthusiasm. The door was locked carefully, yet another lesson they learned from his attempts. He wondered if they'd always been this lax towards their captives or if he was the first to cause so much trouble. Were the circumstances not so dire, he'd have enjoyed the challenges this situation had brought. Gaining a sick sort of satisfaction with every escape, the rush of his heart thundering in his chest, the euphoria that freedom brought him as his feet carried him away from his cage. It made him feel alive in some small way, dragged him out of the lifeless husk that formed around his idle form in the days he was drugged and barely lucid enough to remember his own name.

He supposed he may have been the first real thief to land in their cells. Or maybe he wasn't, the others were just too fearful to defy their orders. Or maybe their fight was lost along with their tongues. Garrett was sharp of tongue as much as wits, but he also knew when to speak and when to hold his silence. Biting words were better left to yourself in times of hardship. He used them as the kindling to his inner fire, kept his anger and his spite buried in his chest, stoking the embers of his endeavors. They couldn't take what they couldn't see. He could posture himself, play the broken man lying in the corner but he refused to give up until he was dead. He was determined to go home, one way or another. To see Basso and Jenivere again.

He sighed just imagining the scolding waiting for him back at the Burrick. The warmth of Jenivere's strong arms wrapped around him as he is folded into her embrace. The sideways look of relief Basso shot his way, carefully concealing the urge to drag the thief up against him and never let him leave. Fists curling into his shirt and tears stinging time weary green eyes. The story he'd have to tell while they sit around the table in the cellar and share a meal together. The warm light flickering against the walls as he enthralls Basso in yet another one of his daring escapes. He could already hear the fence calling bullshit on the fact he used algae to slip his cuffs. The quiet squabbling that was so uniquely them.

He let out a broken breath, fingers curling to steal away the tears that crowded the corners of his eyes. He inhaled through his nose and wrinkled it in regret. He'd do just about anything for a proper bath right about now. And warm food.  _ And a bed. _

He cursed under his breath, rolling over onto his side to stare at the wall. The wood rotten planks were weakening. The wagon was old and the cage didn't help its sorry state any better. Every rock and sway chipped at the wood during the rougher terrain. His eyes dragged along the corners where a peculiar divot in the dark planks drew his attention. Little slivers of broken wood had been chipped away by the rocking cage, exposing the dark rusty edge of a nail. The head kept a sideboard in place. The other two nails present were too firmly fixed in but the rotted wood around the third had started to fall away. Garrett reached his long slender fingers through the bars pulling the larger chips of wood away. The lighter coloring of stiffer pieces were useful enough at prying more chunks away. It was slow work, peeling away one small piece after another. The slivers pricked his fingertips and left them bloody and raw as minutes turned to hours. He suckled in his fingers, hissing at the sting of pain before resuming the gruelling work. Two days passed by, blisters formed near the first knuckles of his fingertips and he sliced the pad of his forefinger open with a misguided attempt but he eventually loosened the nail enough to slide it out of the rot.

His hands ached, knuckles stiffened by the cold night air and the force of work. He flexed them carefully, stretching them out before curling them back into fists and repeating it. He tucked the nail away where he could easily retrieve it and waited. The next day they found themselves camped out near a river, with large rushing rapids that led to wider calmer channels. The hounds were left to run, their large dark bodies playing along the banks, racing up and down the water's edge while the captives were taken from their cages and allowed to walk around.

Garrett was allowed the rare opportunity as well, under close guard. Two slavers and a wolfhound walked alongside him as he shuffled along the worn footpath. He steered away from the dog, placing a slaver between him and the beast at all times. The men standing guard noticed his apprehension but didn't say anything. The few times he tried to sit in the grass, the dog would loom over him, forcing him back to his feet with wild wary eyes. The slaver nearest snickered, whistling commands to the dog urging him to stick close to the thief. Garrett cursed under his breath and resigned himself to wandering in idle circles if only to stretch. Eventually their freedom was short lived and the captives were put back into their cages.

Garrett wondered if they were getting closer to their destination. Their meals were gaining more substance and the bucket which he hadn't seen in a long time was handed out with fresh water, allowing the captives to clean up with a rag. Garrett took his time in scrubbing the filth off of himself but the stench didn't quite leave him like he'd expected. It was hard to avoid when the only clothes he had to wear were the same pair he left Basso's in. The ripe smell was obnoxious and made worse by the momentary luxury. He wrinkled his nose in a grimace, dropped the rag in the bucket and returned to his quiet little corner.

The ache in his foot had dissipated and the bruises from the farmer's wife had mostly healed. The only pain that plagued him was the one in his stomach even with the thicker stews they were being given. He shifted restlessly in his cage as the second night passed over and they remained in the camp. They were let out a second time to walk, this time in smaller easier to manage clusters. The dogs were away helping with a hunt which allowed Garrett the opportunity he was looking for. He plopped down in the grass and stretched his legs out across the earth. The slavers shared conflicted looks between the two but eventually gave up on trying to figure out the conundrum that was their resident problem child. Garrett had noticed the odd glances shared between the slavers, had seen the way they look at him while talking over the campfire. He assumed it was just the new group being filled in on his previous escape attempts but the interest didn't stop there.

It wasn't until he'd been ushered back towards his cage that it clicked. One of the slavers turned him around sharply, pinning the thief against the bars as a strong hand gripped his jaw. He was prepared for the worst, expecting to be forced to down another dose of the bitter green drug but their advances held there. The firm grip didn't force his jaw open but held him still. The slaver that kept him pinned was a tall bald man, stockier than most with dark eyes and a short ruddy beard. His large hands had no problem in manhandling Garrett and his size alone dwarfed the thief.

His other hand raised to touch the light scarring on the side of Garrett's face. The shallow lines where the Trickster's mark had met his skin. The faint tracks of its exploits, the wild untamed magic that nearly had him clawing his own eye out the first time he'd used it. The manic obsession, the hallucinations that plagued him as magic curled throughout his body and seeped into his mind. Jenivere had sat with him for many nights helping him come to terms with the weight of the gift. The  _ Primal _ . The name alone shared a morbid humor, as Garrett's raw emotions bubbled up into savagery. He never asked for this gift, he never  _ wanted _ it but the Trickster saw fit to give it nonetheless. To show him his path.

It had done more harm than good in his profession. The headaches of overuse alone left him curled up on Basso's couch whimpering in pain. The visions that plagued him in the early years of its acquisition were nightmarish. He struggled to find meaning then struggled to find himself. Eventually he decided not everything needed an answer and he was content to pretend it didn't exist. It didn't stop him from calling upon it at times but more often than not, it went ignored. Maybe this was retaliation for denying the gift he'd been given. Maybe this was just a sick game to amuse the Trickster from his shadowy lair. Maybe, like Garrett, he had simply just been bored.

Garrett forced himself to keep his eyes open as the slaver inspected the soft blue green coloring of his eye. He bared teeth in a twisted snarl of satisfaction, bitten off words Garrett didn't understand. His thumb pressed gently along the thief's brow, dropping down to caress the lid before slowly forcing the Primal eye closed. He kept his finger there, pinning the edge of Garrett's eyelid shut. His free hand snagged the back of his hair, bunching it up in his fingers as he forced his head back. His normal brown eye gazed up at the man and the self-satisfied smile that spread across his face. The bark of a command from behind caused them both to jolt. The hands loosened their hold and Garrett slumped back against the bars. His chest ached when he realized he'd been holding his breath, letting a rush of air out before inhaling sharply. A second slaver, the same man that had accompanied Garrett on his walk, growled orders at his companion who reluctantly complied. Removing the shackles from Garrett's wrists, he pushed the thief back inside his cage and bit off a sharp remark before leaving. 

Garrett didn't have the mind to currently rifle through the seven levels of  _ what the actual fuck? _ that was tangled up in that. His heart thrummed heavily against his ribs, the phantom sensation of pain prickled the back of his skull where several strands of hair had been ripped out in the flurry of movement. He hissed through clenched teeth and returned to his corner to reconsider his situation. 

Evening came with the return of the wolfhounds and the spoils of a successful hunt. Venison had been added to the meal as the caretaker doled out the fresh stew to the captives. Garrett's rations had slowly started growing over the days, refueling his energy with time. He wasn't back to how he  _ was _ before he'd been taken but it was enough to make do. Throughout the day, the odd slaver continued to watch him with growing interest which fueled Garrett's panic. He was almost obsessive, always catching his eye over the fire, wandering by his wagon purposely when going to take a piss. He made sure to make eye contact which further unnerved him.

Garrett rolled over to face the wall, hoping to catch a few small hours of sleep but the weight of eyes upon him made his skin itch. An odd heat spread across his skin, the cold chill of unease settled into his limbs as he curled up tighter. The footsteps that approached his wagon were determined. The crunch of boots on kicked up soil, the shadow that loomed over his cage, blocking the firelight from the campfire. The others had fallen asleep already. Their bodies curled up in heaps around the camp, sleeping off the big meal. The dogs were piled into their own cages, chewing on large deer bones, working the red chunks of sinew and flesh away with determined gnawing.

The muscles in his back jumped when the door clicked open. A rough hand reached in, firmly grasping him by his bicep and dragging him out. Garrett struggled in the man's hold, kicking his legs out for some form of leverage until he was completely out. His feet dangled above the ground as he was held painfully up by his arm alone. He squirmed, the door left open as he was half carried around the side of the wagon into the darkness. The man hauled him through the tall grass, one hand slapped over Garrett's mouth to silence him. A gruff voice spoke, a feverish rant falling from his lips as he filled the quiet night air. Garrett was an unwilling audience to whatever craziness the man was babbling on about. He didn't need to know the language to recognize someone off their rocker. The erratic rise and fall in the man's voice, the wild eyes searched the surrounding shadows with suspicion. He gripped Garrett by the back of his hair, large fingers knotted up into the long black locks as he forced him to his knees.

Garrett kicked out, squirming in the grass with stifled refusal. The man yanked, dragging him wholly by his hair. The thief grappled to his wrists to try and lessen the pain that lanced through his skull. His screams earned him a boot to the side, knocking the air out of his chest in the process. He curled up in the tall grass as the rough hands released him. Something dark twisted the slaver's features up, his large form loomed over his frail figure, gripping his jaw once again in a vice hold as he drew a knife from his belt. The blade danced along his jaw, rising up to tease along his eye in slow tantalizing sweeps. He spoke quietly, foul breath ghosting against Garrett's cheek as he mumbled incoherently into the night air. Garrett clutched at his wrists, attempting to shake his head in refusal with what little motion he was permitted.

His legs kicked out, a lucky shot made the man buckle as barefoot met the unprotected meat of his groin. Garrett angled his knee, pressing firmly up into the same spot, driving him back. He scrambled to his feet and fled. He didn't care what direction he went as long as it was away from the mad slaver. The man ranted into the air, screaming curses at him with his gruff voice. The noise was sure to alert the rest of the camp which only urged him to move faster. His bare feet pounded the earth in a relentless effort to gain ground. The baying of the hounds filled the air with a cold sort of fear as they were set upon him. He ran, toes curling into soft soil that became slick mud that soon became water. He skirted to a halt, his footing sliding out from under him as he slipped. He quickly recovered, calling upon the warm bubble of magic behind his eye to navigate the darkness. The water before him was calm on the surface but the raging currents beneath would take even the strongest swimmer. Garrett was not a swimmer of any talent, instead searching the bank for some way to cross without the risk of drowning. Further ahead, he spotted a downed tree, the gap between it and a boulder was questionable but he had made riskier jumps back in the City.

The howls were at his heels as he ran for the tree trunk. Moss slick wood made for a slow climb, forcing him down into a crawl. He balanced carefully, inching his way across as the wolfhounds gave chase. They paced the edge of the river anxiously, snarling and snapping at him like their wolf brethren. The dark humps of fur bristled. The glint of firelight in their eyes as the slavers caught up to them. One made an attempt to climb the trunk but the rotting wood gave out beneath him. He retracted his advances, searching the bank with his companions. Garrett was frozen on the log as it shifted beneath his feet. He could feel the water pushing at it beneath the surface. The way it rolled and started to angle. Garrett yelped, gripping the wood tightly in his grasp for some semblance of balance. His legs dangling over the sides as it started to roll.

His heart leap into his throat, the hounds howled and the slavers yelled crudely at him. The world tipped all at once as wood broke away beneath his weight, his valiant efforts to hold on disintegrated as he was dropped into the icy current. His scream was silenced by the swell of water that rolled over his head. His hands grasping blindly for aid, grappling at algae slick rocks and scraping against the bottom of the river bed. His lungs burned as he struggled against the current, bobbing to the surface in brief spouts. Every sharp breath was accompanied by a swell of water.

A dark shape plunged into the current with him, slicing through the water with ease. A large bulky form that pressed against his back before something sharp took him by his arm. The pain was irrelevant as he was dragged out of the swell. The scrape of rocks beneath his knees was a sharp jolt of reality as rough hands pulled him the rest of the way out of the water by his shoulders. He choked and coughed, sputtering up water as he crumpled against the bank. His fingers curled weakly into the mud as if clutching to the earth in fear of being swept away once more. The heavy panting of a hound laid by his side, a rope leading from its torso back to the caretaker who held it.

He cursed his luck as the slavers bound his wrists and hauled him back to their camp. His clothes were soaked through, stirring shivers across his body as he curled in on himself to salvage some body heat. His attention dragged towards the raucous as the slaver who took him from his cage was driven through with a blade. The sickening squelch made his stomach roll, bile burning acrid up his throat as he struggled to keep what he could down. He tore his gaze away from the body as it dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. The bickering ignited as slavers argued with one another. He squirmed under the firm hold as the caretaker kept him in place. The warmth of the fire licked at his back, the shadow of the damp wolfhound loomed over him, jaws agape with pleased panting. The hound's efforts were rewarded with a brisk scratch behind the ear and a chunk of venison from the dead deer on the huntsman's hook.

It padded gleefully away, returning to the cages with the rest of its brethren. Garrett felt the weight of the hand shift, his bound wrists pulled him back to an upright seated position. He lifted his head weakly, the exhaustion of near drowning sapped what energy he had, the steady thrum of his heart was the most active part about him. For once he just wanted to go back to his cage and sleep. It wasn't the escape he had been planning and he wasn't going to squander an opportunity but some part of him knew he probably shouldn't have run like that. He had no other choice in the matter, he doubted the slavers would have saved him from one of their own or even if they had, it would have been too late to salvage the damage. He was as good as dead.

His head hung, the slow bob of exhaustion causing him to jolt. He opened his eyes, fending off the lures of sleep as the caretaker arranged him next to the fire. He lifted his gaze, blinking bleary eyes in confusion. The man didn't meet his eye, turning away quickly as he gathered another pair of shackles. Garrett stared, almost conflicted as a burning sensation welled up in his stomach. It wasn't until the cuffs were clasped around his ankles that it clicked. The chains were pinned under another slaver's boot, his arms were wrenched back above his head. The taut pull of chains keeping him immobilized as he arched up off of the ground. He twisted beneath them as the caretaker returned to his side. A very large club was held firmly in hand. 

The slaver on his legs attempted to move him around, separating his legs for easier access. Garrett twisted, shaking his head quickly in refusal as he spoke. His voice a hoarse rasp as he pleaded. "No no no no!" He cried out. "Please don't-" He was pulled back by his arms. His shoulders cracked painfully at the angle. He groaned, curling in on himself as much as he possibly could. The caretaker was indifferent to his pleas as he lifted the club. Garrett bucked and twisted, his hips rotating furiously, spasming his whole body in a frantic attempt at escape. The man paused, waited for the thief to be adjusted again before swinging the large curved end of the club down upon his right leg, just below the knee.

There was a split second of time as it stretched, a delay in sensation before pain exploded all at once. His screams rose until his voice broke completely, bile and blood mixing on his tongue as he clenched his jaw. Agony burned up his leg, his body falling still to prevent the fracture from being moved. His whole body trembled, sharp gasps rising in his chest as he struggled for air. His stomach knotted painfully, allowing only seconds for him to twist in the slaver's loosening grip to heave up the contents of his stomach. The sour pungent scent of acid burned his nostrils as he heaved until nothing but clear fluid remained. Blood dripped from his lips, his inner cheek stung with the pain of a bite wound.

The caretaker didn't wait to move him. He knelt beside Garrett, scooping him up carefully into his arms. The heavy weight of the chains hung on his broken leg, bone tore through the flesh of his calf, dirt coated the blood that trickled warmly down his ankle, trailing crimson droplets behind them. The warm glow of the firelight blurred as tears welled up and puddled down his cheeks. He swallowed the rough sob that threatened to break, forcing himself to silence. He salvaged what he could, his pride already in tatters and his body broken beneath the caretaker's touch. 

He stifled the whimper that eased up his throat as he was laid out on the end of the head supply wagon. Leather pouches were laid out, small vials and larger bottles of questionable substances cluttered the space. The familiar green vials were among them but the caretaker made no move to supply him with their relief. The shackles were removed from his ankles, his legs carefully laid out and straightened as much as the right would allow.

Garrett watched as the caretaker held his left hand out, a strangely shaped ring rested on his middle finger. A large yellow stone nestled inside of a facet, one he was not familiar with. A soft light was emitted as he cradled the injury. Garrett whimpered as a belt was used to secure his leg in place, lining up the broken pieces back to some semblance of a proper set. He struggled to keep still, his left leg pulling away from the man's touch, writhing beneath his weight as he fought the thief to hold still. He bit his lip until blood surfaced, coating his tongue once more. He shook his head, silently begging the man to stop. To let him curl up into a ball and ignore the rest of the world. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be touched by hands of violence attempting to heal wounds  _ they  _ inflicted.

The soft glow of white light cast warmth through his right leg, burning away the tendrils of pain as he adjusted the break. Garrett hissed through clenched teeth, the edge slowly fading but the pain throbbed steadily beneath the surface. His focus faded with it, the darkened night sky lightened in the stretch of hours. The blur of time and shifting light crossed his mind in incoherent lapses. Vials were pressed to his lips, bitter flavors intermingling as he was forced to swallow under threat of choking. A blue bottle was moved in his vision, something clear passed by him, the familiar green met his lips and he was lost in the wash out afterwards.

When he stirred to consciousness again, evening was encroaching. His leg was carefully splinted, the blood cleaned away and the open wound was now a faint pink scar. His wrists were bound behind his back, the cuffs secured to the bars to keep him from attempting another escape or maybe they were worried he'd tear the splint away from his own injury. The other captives were quiet, refusing to meet his gaze when he'd look their way. He didn't blame them. His head hung wistfully.

The caretaker returned. Garrett hadn't realized he was chained to the bars beside the door until it had been opened. The man reached in to inspect the wound, the yellow gemstone on his ring started to glow and the same heat as before returned to his leg. Garrett whined, his toes curling with an unnerving sense of vulnerability. The pain ebbed slowly, sharp pinpricks pulled on the muscles as they spasmed in protest. The caretaker moved his hands gently along his right leg. It took Garrett a bit to recognize a healer. He didn't look like a  _ proper  _ one but he was similar enough to pass for the job. They were rare back in the City and the only one Garrett had seen, aside from the basics Jenivere knew, was another Pagan witch like her. She wore an amulet and used gemstones for her work, laying the carefully chosen stones on the afflicted area and focusing her magic into them. It was a controlled focus for restorative magic. She always accompanied the magic with medicinal remedies, explaining to the young and foolish thief that magic alone could not fix a wound. The body must replenish what is lost.

Garrett had an inkling suspicion that this man didn't follow that same system. His magic was subpar at best, just barely passing for the bare necessities of recovery. He supplemented Garrett with the same green vial and a bowl of broth which he had to help the thief drink. When the drug started to set in, the caretaker shut the door and left.


	5. Witch Doctor

They moved again. Garrett couldn't tell when exactly it had happened but it did. Three days had passed since his leg was broken. Three days kept in a delirium of drug induced stupor. He only noticed the change simply because he woke up before the sun had fully set yet. They were no longer near the river, or anywhere near a water source from what he could tell. They had moved to an outcropping of orchards near more rolling hills of farmland. He woke when the caretaker was adjusting the splint. His mismatched eyes met the inquisitive tired gaze of the larger man. He withdrew his hand from Garrett's leg, the faint white glow of his ring faded as he dug into the pocket of his armor, retrieving another green vial. Garrett turned his head away from the man, scrounging up what energy he had to refuse. The caretaker paused, inspected the thief before shrugging off the dismissal. He helped Garrett drink the broth he'd brought and after a moment of contemplation finally released him from the shackles binding his wrists. The relief that befell his shoulders was obvious as he slumped forward. The bone deep ache in his joints manifested in a groan. He leaned to the side and crumpled into an uncoordinated heap. His arms dragged in front of him, cradling himself in small swoops of comfort. The door shut quietly behind him as the caretaker moved on with his duties.

The night was quiet as Garrett watched the slavers pass by his cage with mild interest. He repositioned himself so he was tucked into the corner furthest from the door, his eyes settled on the faint orange glow of the fire light that reached the edges of his cage. The wagons had been circled around protectively once more. The horses stirred in small fits, hooves pawing the earth with mild discomfort. The slavers talked quietly among themselves, the occasional rousing banter would spark but a hushed lull would replace it swiftly after. The men were eager and weary. The trip was wearing at them. Garrett had a sneaking suspicion they were close. They _ had _to be. They were growing too lax for them not to be. The energy the days before had faded, the toll of this trip seemed like a heavy weight. Occasionally squabbles would start but they'd be put to rest just as quickly as the leader of the group, the man with the burn on his face, would bark sharp demands.

The slavers were beginning to wind down. The moon was high in the sky offering a pale spotlight on the camp. Shadows shifted with the breeze through the orchard trees. The whistle of the wind was cut off sharply. Something entered the camp without warning. An arrow lodged into the back of an unsuspecting slaver. A flurry of movement, an eruption of action stole his attention as bodies stormed the circle. Men clad in blue uniforms tailored in gold decorative symbols. The familiar flash of a flag was embroidered on their shoulder, a glimpse of an imperial marker. Garrett felt his stomach tighten as swords clashed and blood was spilled. Screams filled the air. One of the slavers deflected a sword blow, kicking back at the attacking soldier. He was met with a parry. Another arrow sliced through the air, sinking into the edge of the wagon. Garrett pressed back against the bars, his fingers curling around the nail he had hidden there so many days earlier.

The body of the slaver dropped to the ground, the soldier turned to rejoin the fight. Garrett shuffled towards the door, dragging his splinted leg behind him with a grimace as he slotted the nail into the keyhole. Sweat beaded down his neck as he worked, feeling out the tumblers in the mechanism. He hissed through his teeth, spitting curses when the last tumbler refused to give in. He forced it, taking a chance on it giving. He was rewarded with a click. He withdrew his hands as the slaver recovered from the ground. Blood scored his chest where a deep wound had torn a jagged swathe over his ribs. He turned towards Garrett's wagon, a snarl on his lips as he forced the front chest open. Garrett cursed with disgust realizing his personal effects had been stashed in the trunk. He caught the barest glint of his leathers but what drew his attention was his bow. The slaver snatched it up, digging haphazardly through his quiver to retrieve an arrow.

Garrett growled, watching as the man fought to release the arms of the bow, his fingers fumbled with the trigger mechanism on the grip. The thief shoved the door open on his cage, grappling the man from behind and wrenching him back. His arms hooked around the slaver's neck, compressing his artery and stopping all blood flow to his brain. He felt the steadily growing weight as the slaver lost consciousness. His bow hit the ground followed by the body. He dropped down on top of the man with little care for the injuries he'd cause, snatching up his bow. He stumbled to his feet long enough to retrieve his quiver, releasing the mechanism and knocking an arrow in preparation. He pulled his lockpicks out of the chest as an afterthought. He dropped to his knees, crawling under the wagons to avoid the majority of the fight until he popped up on the other side of the adjacent wagon.

A quick sweep of his surroundings secured an opening as he twisted up and knelt before the cage door. His picks worked far more quickly compared to the rusty nail, securing the satisfying click of freedom. He repeated his action, crawling under the next wagon to the third group of slaves. He bypassed the caged hounds with a wrinkle of disgust and started on the final lock. The slaves inside were frightened, pressed back against the bars furthest from the door.

Garrett bit his bottom lip thoughtfully as he worked the last tumbler free. The click was deafeningly loud in his ears. A shiver of realization swelled when he noticed the distinct absence of fighting. He dropped his picks and drew his bow, twisting halfway around from where he knelt as a shadow loomed at his back. He leveled a blunt arrow at the man above. The orange glow of the campfire stretched shadows across rugged features. Long brown hair was swept back out of his face, the prominent blue and gold uniform was draped down the back with the flair of a deep royal blue cloak. A sword leveled on Garrett, the blade tip touched just below his jaw. The man was big, broadly built and definitely terrifying from where Garrett was crouched. 

Gloved leather hands reached out, gripping the hand that held his bow steady. The man had no qualms about how close to being shot he was. He ignored the threat that Garrett could still release his arrow even now. Garrett didn't know why he didn't. He held still, his chest heaving with the effort of his travel, his leg burned painfully where he knelt. The excitement of a battle thrilled his thundering heart. And the man before him was splattered in the blood of slavers, covered in the evidence of their sorry lives where they'd been cut down. Bodies littered the camp, all of which were their unfortunate captors. 

He knew he shouldn't find comfort in their deaths. Yet he couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. The hysteria of relief swelled in his chest as he relaxed his bow, lowering it to the ground. The man carefully pried it from his hands, one gloved palm rested on his shoulder as if in a momentary impulse to console the thief.

Garrett felt the tight pain twisting up his lungs, the burning sensation as he slumped to his knees. His vision blurred with the overwhelming relief. A sensation shared by all the captives around the camp. The sudden impulsive need to expel the distress that had been boiling beneath the surface. Garrett didn't deny himself the sob that broke. He let the tears fall shamelessly as the man, the General by his uniform status, helped him up. He stumbled as the man disarmed him. He stopped to collect his lockpicks where they'd fallen and clung to his quiver. He looked back towards the wagon where the rest of his gear had been left, reaching out for it as he hobbled past towards the opening between the wagons. The man steered him carefully with a firm grip, pausing to inspect the trunk before urging the thief onwards. 

Further into the orchard more wagons waited for them. These held no bars or locks. Just open covers with benches for seating. A soldier waited inside the wagon, handing out blankets to every captive, helping them get situated on the benches before moving to the next. It took two of them to help Garrett into the back of the wagon. Strong hands hooked under his arms as he was passed up towards the soldier like a child. He ignored the vulnerable swell of paranoia that crept into his thoughts. Hesitantly accepting the blanket he settled onto the bench beside two middle aged women who huddled together and cried. They cried until they wore themselves to exhaustion. Garrett had allowed himself that one little luxury albeit quieter. His head hung and hidden beneath the blanket as he pulled it tighter around himself. The wagon moved at the behest of the soldiers, the slaver wagons had been rounded up and were returning with the bodies of the dead men crammed into the same tiny cages.

* * *

  
  


Garrett wasn't aware of when he'd fallen asleep. He recalled the wagons, the soldiers that sat among them like comrades in a bloody battle. He held his quiver close to his chest, felt the weight of the woman beside him as she slept. Her head lolled to his shoulder. The idle swaying of the wagons as they approached a city in the distance, illuminated by lights welcoming them into what could only be considered sanctuary. The shadowy humps of buildings against a backdrop of water reflecting the orange glow. 

He didn't remember falling asleep but he woke up nonetheless. The bone deep ache of exhaustion afflicted every inch of his body, protesting any attempts at movement. Blankets were layered atop his body like an oppressive weight. As he opened his eyes, he was forced to shut them again quickly to shield them from the bright light filtering into the room. In the brief moment, he caught the glimpse of high ceilings above, large glass paned windows running the expanse from floor to arched ceiling. Soft blue curtains were drawn to shade some of the afternoon sun from entering but not enough to prevent the welling of tears in his eyes from the sudden over stimulation.

Garrett could make out the soft murmurs of voices talking in hushed tones around the room, some familiar in dialect but others were foreign. The flare of panic that rekindled in his chest was soothed when he heard softened foreign words making quiet promises to a distraught woman. Promises to help all of them get back home. Garrett didn’t know rather to believe the man or not, the quiet promises could only hold so far and as far as he was concerned, they were in a foreign country. One that was not exactly a friend towards his home land. Though he assumed that was simply by necessity to dislike the Baron which in a long stretch, he supposed he could get on board with that.

Garrett chanced a glance once more, his eyes scanning the room more fully. There were soldiers mingling between the rows of cots that now held the weary recovering forms of the survivors. Men in blue uniforms decorated with gold embroidery carrying the same imperial emblem on their shoulder sleeve. They wore swords on their hips but their hands were busy tending to the wounded and the ill, offering medicine and water, helping wrap the brands that were infected or ill taken care of. Amidst them all was a more prominent figure, one of the ones that he’d heard speaking. Dark hair combed back neatly and the shadows of a sparsely grown beard blotted out his jawline, a red undercoat lie beneath the blue uniform exterior. The different markings on his uniform suggested a man of higher rank than the rest. His dark eyes met Garrett’s, a flicker of realization crossed the man’s face as he pulled a soft smile his direction. The swift and easy stride towards his cot made Garrett squirm, a wince of pain pulled up his leg when he tried to move to sit up. The man slowed, holding a placating hand up towards the thief as he approached.

“It’s okay. Don’t move.” The dialect was atrocious if Garrett was being honest, the attempt to match their native accent was actually butchering it but at least he could speak something Garrett understood. Even if it made him want to smother the man with a pillow just to make him stop. 

Garrett stilled on the cot, the blankets sliding down his chest to expose the clean linen shirt he was dressed in. It was overly large for his size, the neck almost engulfing his shoulders but the clean mint fragrance was a relief to his senses. The well scrubbed sensation of his skin made him itchy at the knowledge that someone undressed him but the feel of being clean was almost enough to forgive it. His fingers curled into the blankets, wadding up the hem beneath his palms anxiously. His gaze lifted towards the man as he knelt and settled to eye level with the thief. Garrett noticed in the corner of his vision, that his brand was covered in clean bandages that were carefully wrapped around his forearm. He ignored the urge to inspect them, keeping his attention on the soldier. His fingers balled up in the fabric of the blanket before he forced them to relax once more.

“I’m Captain Curnow.” The man started, gesturing a hand to his chest in introduction. He took care in forming every word, a slow pace that Garrett couldn’t decide was for his own benefit in working through an unfamiliar language or for Garrett’s to understand him better. He would be mildly annoyed by the latter were the circumstances different but he waited for the man. He had all the time in the world it seems. “You’re safe here. This is Dunwall Tower.” He gestured around them. “You are going to be well taken care of until a transport can be arranged to take you back home.”

Silence stretched as the man sat at his side. Garrett could imagine he was expecting something in response. Maybe a rejoicement with tears of joy, fumbling questions of emotional distress or maybe even a backlash of anger. Instead he was met with silence. The captain frowned momentarily before trying a new tactic to garner a response from the man. “Is there a name I can call you by?” 

Garrett considered it, rolling the request around in his head. It couldn't necessarily hurt to answer and from the look the captain was giving him, he may be concerned with Garrett's absent reaction. Not wanting anymore unnecessary attention than he was already submitted to, he decided it best to break his silence. Wouldn't want them thinking he was broken or simply stupid. Though he'd take great offense to the latter and make them regret that assumption should it come about. 

When he finally parted his lips to speak, he regretted it. His throat was rough, lips dry and cracked. The first break of syllables died before they met his tongue. He choked, stifled a cough then fell into a hard wracking series of coughs that pulled painfully in his chest. He pressed a hand against his breast bone, the hard ache and rasp felt like a blade being scraped inside his lungs dragging fire up his throat. The Captain moved quickly to a side table to retrieve a glass of water from a pitcher for the thief, offering it to him. Shaky hands accepted it, pausing long enough to check it for contamination but his dire need trumped any suspicions he may have had as he let the first few sips sooth the burn searing down his throat. He gave another test cough, cleared the air way then took another sip that ended with the entire glass being drained. He stared at the bottom with momentary surprise at himself before handing the empty glass back.

“You alright?” The concern sounded genuine as he reached a gentle hand to Garrett’s shoulder. The thief stilled under the touch causing the Captain to reconsider his gesture and withdraw. His dark brows knitted together as he inspected the smaller man. He shivered at the scrutiny of the soldier's gaze urging a response. Garrett nodded a short jerky motion, dissuading any further prodding.

“Garrett.” He murmured a few seconds later once he could form the words without choking. The sharp tang of blood curled at the back of his throat as he coughed again, biting back the ache that resided there now. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Garrett. Get some rest. Dr. Sokolov will be making rounds soon and check on your leg.” He informed him gently. Garrett simply nodded, ignoring the urge to draw away when the man stood to his full height at his bedside. The Captain paused long enough to speak briskly to one of the soldiers standing guard. His hand resting on the man’s shoulder before departing. The soldier turned his gaze back towards the room, curious young eyes landing on Garrett. He offered a tiny smile when he noticed Garrett was watching him before fixing his gaze back to an undetermined point on the wall before him. Garrett bristled at the unwanted attention aimed his way, wary of the potential problems that came with wandering eyes and curious minds.

He couldn’t relax after that. The soldiers eyed him when they walked by, occasionally one would bring a glass of water and food on trays but Garrett’s appetite was absent. The other survivors lacked his hesitance and gladly consumed every offered morsel. They talked quietly to one another, well those that still had the ability. Those who had their tongues cut out were provided notepads and pens to help them communicate with the others or had resorted to hand gestures.

Just as the Captain had promised, a man entered within the hour and started checking each cot. He examined their brands, inspected the mouths of those who had lost their tongues and treated the few who had become ill. Steadily making his way over towards Garrett’s little corner. He watched with an air of disinterest but he couldn’t dismiss the suspicions coiled tight in his stomach. He tried to distract himself by investigating the room they were in. It was larger than most, meant to accommodate a considerable amount of people. The scratch marks in the marble floor suggested chairs and even a large table, or many tables may have filled the space. Possibly even other furniture but it’d all been cleared out hastily, replaced with the rows of cots and smaller rag tag tables of varying styles which now were cluttered with tools and vials of medicine.

Garrett cursed his wandering thoughts when a figure shifted to his bedside. He startled at the movement, body coiled tightly on the bed, the pain shooting down his leg stalling his efforts as the man frowned down at him. He was scruffy looking, with dark earthen trousers and a similar dark jacket. His eyes were tired, crested with shadowy bags underneath. He carried with him a large leather bag filled with tools and other assorted colored bottles. Garrett assumed this was the aforementioned doctor but his relief didn't rise as the man inspected him. A soldier had moved to join the doctor, a young man who Garrett had noticed was one of the rare few translators in the room. His attempts were almost worse than the Captain if that were even possible but it was at least _ passable _. He could easily assume the Empire didn't often encounter his people aside from the passing merchants that chanced the treacherous trip across the border.

The doctor started speaking and the young man listened carefully before repeating his words in something Garrett could understand. "This is Dr. Sokolov. He is here to take care of you." The young man's words were stilted, made short and choppy. Garrett could guess the soldier was still learning and flowing fluent sentences were still beyond his grasp. "The doctor is going to examine your leg." He informed Garrett after a moment. The doctor in question had donned a set of gloves that didn't look like anything Garrett had ever seen. There were pieces of metal that outlined the man's hands as if replicating the skeletal structure of the hand in a simplistic manner. Where joints on the hand bent there were hinges and over the knuckles were small facets of the same yellow gemstone Garrett had seen the slaver caretaker use.

There was a pause as the doctor glanced at the thief to ensure he understood the implication before lifting the blankets away from his right leg. A pair of dark laborers trousers replaced his old set, the legs were rolled up to his knees and pinned in place. His right leg was more properly splinted now, two slender iron rods braced his ankle and above his knee, keeping his leg from bending too much. Leather straps secured it in place, keeping it tight. The pink skin of scarring was made new where incisions had been made into his leg and were carefully stitched back shut.

Garrett felt his stomach clench up tightly when he realized the man had performed some form of surgery on him without his knowledge. He frowned, fingers balling into the fabric of the blanket with growing fear. _ How long was I asleep? _ It couldn't have been too long. Maybe a couple days at most? Yet it still unnerved him.

His attention snapped up as the doctor started to speak and the young man translated slowly. "Your leg had been broken and reset wrong. Dr. Sokolov had to fix the break to save the muscles and nerves in your leg. It isn't perfect and you will have a limp." Garrett watched as the gloved hands glowed a soft white light, a warm pulse that pulled the pain from his muscles and relaxed the tension. Studious dark eyes were fixed intently on the work at hand. 

Garrett could feel the warmth bubbling up, a tingling sensation that reached into the broken bones. He hissed through his teeth, his foot twitched with the discomfort and the utter _ wrongness _ of the sensation. Something cold replaced it, a quick determined chill that made him jerk suddenly. The soldier reached out to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder but Garrett swatted it away and cursed under his breath. He had enough self control to mostly keep his hands to himself, balling his fists into the bedding as he writhed. He took care not to move his right leg but the left bent and kicked at the mattress as muscles cramped up. Like a spool winding up thread until it was tight, he felt it pull up his knee and along the back of his thigh. The twisting pain of a knot in the dip of his pelvis along his groin that stretched up into his lower back. He arched off the bed, his voice ringing loud in his ears. The soldier tried to calm him, hushing him softly to console him. The other survivors watched from their cots, eyes wide and fearful, drinking in what had become of the daring thief after his many escapes.

He felt the trickle of heat in his eyes, the sudden warmth that curled out in a haze of blue vapor. The painful twisting tension snapped suddenly without warning. He jerked, a sharp cry left his lips overshadowing the startled yelp from the doctor as he jolted away from Garrett's leg. A bolt of white energy arched from his leg to the man's hand. He wrenched the glove off that it connected to as the yellow gemstones burst like shattered ice and rained down upon the marble floor. 

Garrett went slack against the cot, the washed out cooler tones of the world faded back to their normal vibrancy. The soft blue fabrics and white walls, gold molds decorating elegant swirls and dips in curly imagery of birds. The thief's chest heaved with every breath, eyes fluttering with weariness. He heard the voices of men talking quickly, saw the flash of the Captain's red and blue attire as he rushed into the room with three soldiers behind him, hands resting on the hilts of their swords with habitual preparedness. Their eyes fell on Garrett's miserable little corner, brows crinkled in confusion as the doctor turned to talk excitedly to them. There was no translation for the following conversation. Two soldiers stood by Garrett's cot as his leg was hastily covered back up with the blankets.

The doctor and the captain took their conversation outside while the remaining soldiers fell into routine to secure the room and calm any upset survivors with their limited communication skills.


	6. Garrett Makes More Bad Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett is an idiot that doesn't understand when he should quit while he's ahead. Seriously. Stop being so stubborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates. It is gonna take me some time to get out the next chapters of PMP and Caged Bird. I've been sick on and off for a couple weeks and its wearing me down. I just can seem to kick it or the after effects that have been ragged and tired all the time and lacking motivation.
> 
> Hopefully in a couple days I'll have the next chapters out. I'm still slowly working on them since being sick leaves me restless and bored more often than not. But its a very slow progress.
> 
> I may also be a little hesitant to writing certain scenes because Corvo is a stubborn disaster to try to write properly. Everyone else? Easy enough. Corvo? Good luck with that boy. 
> 
> Anywho! I'll let y'all get back to reading! Dont forget to comment and kudo at the end! Thank you!

The unintentional stunt earned him two guards sitting by his side at all hours of the day and night. Garrett found it hard to get any rest with the looming figures seated beside him, watching him as if he were a feral animal that could bite at a moment's notice. The tension that wove through their postures hadn't gone unnoticed when the doctor came over to check on him regularly. He earned a rather light hearted scolding from the young translator as the doctor chastised him more strongly for not eating the meals brought to him. Eventually he was forced to submit to their urgings when the doctor threatened to stick a tube in him to feed him fluids if he didn't comply. It had probably been a joke but the humor was lost in translation. The only supplemental evidence that it had potentially been a joke was the uncomfortable looks the translator gave the doctor as he laughed.

Garrett accepted the easier to stomach stews and broths brought to his bedside in the days following the incident. Sokolov's interest had been piqued after the Primal's energy shattered his focusing gloves. He had tried two more times to draw out a reaction from the Primal using roughly the same tactic but Garrett had a better handle on it now. That and the soldiers didn't seem very happy with the doctor's intentions and neither did the Captain.

Slowly over the days, the Captain would enter and talk with the survivors. Some would leave with him and never return. Their belongings would be gathered up by a soldier and their cots removed. He had seen one of the young women who had left, a bird like him, lingering outside the doors in a servant's outfit. She had been delivering the meal trays for the rest of the survivors. She looked...happy. Almost relieved to have work she was familiar with and a purpose. He overheard her talking to another ill survivor about how the Captain was finding them places to reside in Dunwall along with work more befitting them. Those with preexisting trades were easy to place, those without were easily taught basic tasks such as she was. It was a simpler life working in the Tower kitchens. Each survivor taken out had been provided clothing and told to keep their brands hidden. Some covered theirs with sleeves or bandages, some had scrounged up makeup to hide them as best they could while others such as the laborers, didn't have to try as hard.

Before long, Garrett was one of the few left in that overly large room. Another bird, a woman had come down with an illness and required emergency surgery in the night. She was sound asleep recovering in her bed. Two men which were discovered to be brothers stayed together. One was a bird, the other a laborer. The bird had fallen blind after an infection from the unsanitary conditions and the laborer was rendered mute when his tongue was taken. They cared for each other and refused to be separated. The captain obliged their request. One of the older soldiers sat with them during the day and helped teach the brothers sign language so they could still communicate with one another, the laborer pressing fingers into his brother's hand to talk to him.

Captain Curnow had sat in with Garrett on a few occasions, taking up one of the chairs even while Sokolov examined his leg. The man translated whatever was necessary, fluctuating from conversing with the doctor to explaining what he was doing to Garrett. Garrett didn't respond much aside from nods and shakes of the head. His bitten off curses when the pain was too much were as verbal as he would get in the man's presence. Despite the good faith they displayed, he still had trouble trusting the man. He was in a foreign country after all and the Captain was an inquisitive man. His eyes saw more than he would let on. More so than Sokolov.

In the brief moments of silence when Sokolov would leave them to their own, the Captain would try to converse. Garrett had to give it to him, he was very casual in his attempts. It almost made up for his terrible rendition of his language.

"Garrett." He started after Sokolov had given him a strong warm drink laced with a light sedative. It wasn't strong enough to make him sleep but still potent enough to relax his muscles. His leg had been subject to severe cramps in the last day or so while the injured muscles healed. "Did you have a trade back home?"

Garrett settled back into the pillows of his cot, his eyes rising to track the sun as shadows stretched across the ceiling. He heard the Captain's chair creak, the subtle shift of weight as he leaned close enough to catch the thief's eye. This wasn't the first time he had asked and Garrett did a lovely show of being too out of it to understand. At the moment, he didn't have that luxury. Sokolov had apparently assured the Captain that he would be lucid enough to understand simple questions. Garrett cursed the doctor under his breath and kept his gaze away from the soldier.

"There is no shame in it if you lack the skills of a trade." Curnow offered slowly, working the complicated syllables past his lips. He was getting a bit better, Garrett had to admit. He assumed it was either from all the practice in the last week or from being surrounded by so many who spoke the tongue. Maybe it was finally rubbing off on him. "I'm certain we can find you something worthwhile. Of course after your leg is healed." He gestured half heartedly.

Garrett let the quiet settle between them. He closed his eyes for a moment to rest them. They opened quickly when Curnow moved. The soft hiss of fabric as he lifted a hand to his jaw, scratching lightly at the stubble that was starting to grow rampant there. Garrett wondered just how tired the man must be with all the added workload. His gaze met Garrett's and he smiled a small genuine smile. Something akin to amusement as he spoke once more. His voice dropped lower to keep the topic between the two of them. 

"General Attano would like a meeting with you when you're able." Garrett's brows raised before sharpening into a frown. "Don't fret. It's nothing bad. You've caught his eye so to speak." A laugh bubbled up at Garrett's increasing frown. It was warm and sincere, a foreign sound to Garrett's ears after so long of hearing naught but other's anguish. "I promise you, that's not a bad thing. Especially for a man in your position. He was shall we say..._ impressed _ with your efforts during the raid." The mirth of the man's expression offered some relief to the thief.

"Sokolov assures me you'll be ready to start walking soon. How does that sound?" Curnow raised a brow expectantly. Garrett's eyes darted towards his legs thoughtfully. He moved the left one, rotating it and wiggling his toes. The right one was currently numb from the knee down. Sokolov had administered some sort of elixir that helped with the pain of his recent probing. He did have to admit, he was eager to get back on his feet. If it wasn't for all the drugs weighing him down, he probably would have been fighting to leave the bed already. A conflicting mixture of fear and anticipation burrowed into his chest making it tight as he heaved a sigh. The doctor had promised he would eventually walk, albeit with a limp. He wasn't sure how far that would extend to the rest of his functionality. Would he still be able to sneak and steal? Could he crouch and climb? How much of his life has been uprooted from an injury alone?

He was petrified to find out. But it was an inevitable answer that would come rather he wanted it to or not. Just as he always did, he would roll with it. Improvise and overcome. It's all he had left. It's the only thing that would help him return home. To Basso and to Jenivere.

* * *

He wasn't ready. He knew the Captain had promised the eventual attempts at walking but he was definitely not ready when Sokolov came in at the early hours of morning and decided today was the day to start. It took both the doctor and the young soldier to help him to his feet. The brace kept his leg straight and helped support most of his weight. He hovered on his left leg and stared dauntingly at the floor. Several minutes had passed as the soldier murmured soft reassurances to him, reminders to take his time. The doctor didn't seem as patient but he remained mostly quiet on the matter. When he did take the first step, he was met with pain. Sharp at first. His foot had been numb, the fading drugs ushered in the tingling pinpricks of the nerves coming back to life. He bit his lip and stifled the wince as he took another step. It was slow going. He walked eight feet to the wall and then back before he needed to sit down and take a break.

The soldier praised him for his efforts and Garrett felt childish shame for how little he had accomplished. He knew he wouldn't be running the first time he got upright and the pain was a minor nuisance so far but it frustrated him that the short distance had him red faced and panting. Sokolov didn't share the sentiment, ushering Garrett's leg up so he could inspect the stitches and check for any strain.

He was relieved to be cleared for travel. Every hour or so, he would try again. The soldier would walk with him and Garrett was determined to go further and further with each attempt. He nearly fell when he chose to walk to the other side of the room. The muscle cramped in the back of his calf and all his strength bled out of him in one go. He cried out, the soldier gripped him under the arms and kept him on his feet long enough for a second guard to assist with carrying him back to the cot.

Garrett's frustrations were growing as day by day he struggled. Each attempt offered more progress but it was slow and infuriating. He pushed himself to keep going even when the pain returned. The young soldier was his crutch when he'd stumble and the weight holding him back when he refused to take a break. He coiled up on the cot and cursed himself. Sokolov would come and go, checking in on him when he'd come to see how the woman was doing. The doctor had chided him with the soldier's help, for being stubborn and not properly resting when he should. He gave strict orders to the soldier to keep Garrett in bed for the evening. It lasted all but an hour when Garrett started attempting to walk on his own. He hobbled to the wall and used it for the additional support, determined to walk the entire length around the room. It was a daunting endeavor with how large the room was itself but any attempts to dissuade him were met with a hand being swatted and a sharp glare towards the soldier.

The young man sighed heavily, trailing behind Garrett in case he fell or lost his balance. The amusement of the other guards was made known by their odd whistles and praising tones of voice. The attention of the brothers had been stolen as he worked his way along the wall further across from them. It was a slow shuffle, his palm sliding along the molding below the windows. His eyes sneaking glimpses at the world outside, inspecting the soft waves that lapped at the river mouth, ships docked along the opposite shoreline where they quickly became shadows in the dying light of evening. 

He paused for a few minutes, shifting his weight experimentally as he braced himself against the furthest windowsill. He was almost to the first corner and the wall after had no ledges to balance on. The soldier offered him assistance back to the cot but Garrett shook his head in stubborn refusal. He sucked in a breath and took another step. The pain was a slow growing burn up his leg as muscles that had been idle for too long were put to use. He ignored it, taking another shuffling step to cross the corner and reach the new wall. He continued with quickened pace, another step. Left then right. Shuffled right then left. Right, left, right, another shuffled step to balance then left again.

The limp was there, especially with the brace keeping his leg from bending quite yet. He had to angle it awkwardly to make progress, swing his leg in a small pivot of his hip to get the motion needed without dragging the limb behind him. He took another step and winced as the muscles spasmed. He gripped at the wall and braced for the inevitable. It passed after several minutes, the quivering of muscles protesting the strain. He refused to give in to it. Convinced himself that he'd been through worse. If a little cramp was enough to take him out of commission then he had no right to return to his line of work. He had no right to look Basso or Jenivere in the eye because he was _ weak _ and he let himself be overwhelmed.

He sucked in a sharp breath, closed his eyes and breathed. Focused on the level even breaths, his shoulders twitched as he palmed the wall before taking another step to work through the pain. He continued, despite the protests of both his leg and the soldier. He kept going until he reached the next wall, crossing the corner more easily than the last. He lifted his attention from his feet to examine how much further he had to go. By his approximation he was halfway done which was a considerable feat compared to three days ago.

His attention was taken by the familiar red and blue coat standing by his cot. The bemused smile that nestled on the Captain's face made Garrett bristle as he watched the soldier plead with the thief to take a break. Even offering to get him a chair to rest in. Garrett shook his head stubbornly and continued. His fire renewed with some strange desire to prove himself to this man. That even while laid up as he was, he wasn't a man to be trifled with. He wasn't just another hapless survivor who made it this far on dumb luck and whispered prayers to long dead deities. He made his own way, shuffling along the wall with a new vigor. The pain was an afterthought. The burning ache in his lungs was secondary as he pushed off the wall in the last stretch, bypassed the doorway completely and stood on his own two feet before the Captain. He swayed, chest puffed out and head held high. His chin angled as if to present himself for an unspoken challenge. The determined gleam in his mismatched eyes urged a huffed laugh from the Captain. Garrett scowled in return. 

"You certainly are a peculiar one I'll give you that." He chuckled, giving the thief a once over before taking a step back. He gestured towards the cot but Garrett shook his head, defiant in his stance to remain on his feet. The soldier stood behind him with conflicted responses, all attempts to persuade the thief had died on his lips. He resigned himself to salute to his commanding officer and allow himself to be dismissed.

Once they were relatively alone in their small corner of the room, Curnow smiled cordially to the thief. “I can clearly see now why General Attano is so taken by you.” He gestured towards Garrett, dark brown eyes dragging slowly over the smaller man in his defiant stance. The lock legged posture of a man standing by the strength of will alone. He could see the strain it was putting on Garrett, the labored breaths that stuttered in his chest, the sweat that beaded at his temple from the effort. The ghostly pallor now flushed with exertion.

Curnow crossed his arms over his chest as he smiled wryly. “Sokolov won’t be very happy about it but if you’re up for the challenge, I can offer you a better place to stretch your legs.” Garrett tilted his head curiously. The scowl fading from his features into something akin to consideration. It was banished quickly to something more neutral. “Of course it could always wait if you’re not strong enough to leave here yet.”

Garrett folded his arms with a huff of disapproval. The dirty look aimed at the Captain secured another chuckle from him. “That’s what I thought. I’ll see what I can do tomorrow.” Garrett eyed the man, watching as the Captain dismissed himself with a quick turn on his heel. “Get some rest Garrett. Wouldn’t want you to overexert yourself.”

A new soldier replaced the one from before. A quick change in guard rotation under the Captain’s cautious eye before he was left to his own devices. Garrett had managed to stumble the short distance to his cot, throwing himself onto it with a hiss. His leg was losing feeling as pain turned to numbness that ached further up his thigh into his back. He shuffled around disgruntled, the blankets wrapped around his waist as he adjusted the pillows to support his back.

He was beginning to regret his stubborn pride an hour later when the bird from the kitchen came to deliver their meals to the remaining survivors. Garrett had no appetite, tossing and turning fitfully on the cot. The pain in his leg was excruciating, pulling along the muscles in cramps that came and went. His back burned around his hips and he couldn’t find a comfortable position to lie in. The soldier offered to call the doctor but Garrett shook his head in denial, refusing to be lectured by the obsessive doctor for not following his directions. He made his bed and he was determined to lie in it, even if that meant he gained no sleep in the long stretch of night. His left leg hung off the edge of the cot as he twisted enough to get semi comfortable. It wasn’t his bed in the bell tower where he could stretch, roll and flop to his heart’s content and he risked nearly flipping the bed at one point when he turned too quickly and threw his weight wrong into the side. His heart jumped into his throat as the cot rocked before settling. He huffed indignantly and resigned himself to the misery he had wrought, impatiently waiting for dawn.

* * *

Garrett glowered at the soldier that woke him up. He hadn’t fallen asleep until the early hours of morning when the pain had finally faded to a manageable level and he could ignore the prickle of discomfort in lieu of exhaustion. A different older soldier stood over him now, one hand on his shoulder as he shook Garrett awake. A meal tray sat on the table beside his bed and the Captain was seated in the only chair remaining. The light that flooded the room told him it was some time around noon and he’d slept most of the day. He blinked his eyes clear of the bleary spots that cluttered his vision, noticing the female patient had been moved. 

His gaze shifted to the far corner and found the brothers had also disappeared and he was now the only remaining survivor in the room. He wasn’t sure why that unnerved him so much but it did. He shifted his weight, dragging himself upright with a wince. His back protested the movement, his right leg was heavy under his control as he adjusted it to keep the brace from snagging on the bedding. He adjusted the blanket to keep himself covered, tearing his gaze from the soldier who backed away to stand behind the Captain and placing it on the man who waited quietly for his attention. He smiled, his hands folded in his lap resting stop his knee where his legs had been crossed.

"Good afternoon Garrett." He greeted politely, the roughness of his voice was accented by the tiredness on his face. Garrett noted he'd finally got around to finding a razor and had shaved the scruff from his jaw and trimmed his dark hair. Garrett figured the break in work had allowed it if the absence of the survivors was anything to go by. If past experience could offer anything, Garrett distinctly remembered this would be about the time he ends up interrogated by the seemingly kind and considerate military officer. His fingers bunched in the hem of the blanket balling it up around his fingers before he forced himself to relax the nervous action. They twitched idly, fiddling with a frayed string he snagged on the corner of the fabric, curling it around the tip of his finger before unraveling it and repeating the action. His eyes darted to the soldier then towards the guards still stationed at the door before coming back to Curnow. 

The officer raised a brow at that inspecting the anxiety that stirred in the smaller man. Even on a good day when he was fully capable with his physical abilities, he doubted he'd have been quick enough to escape. As he was now, it would be impossible. He considered a distraction but was swiftly reminded of how drained just walking the short distance around the room had made him feel. He'd be lucky to make it out of the room without collapsing altogether into a heap. That's even if he manages to avoid their swords on the way. 

His mind was running through scenarios, judging decisions and potential outcomes when Curnow's voice interrupted. He startled briefly, snapping his attention back to the man as he offered a sympathetic smile. His hand had reached out towards Garrett's good leg, resting a palm gently on his knee as he spoke quietly. "It's okay Garrett. You're safe. Remember I promised to help you stretch your legs today?"

Garrett paused, dredged up the night's earlier conversation then nodded in confirmation. Curnow smiled, a small fragile smile that was woven with concern for the smaller man. "I had hoped you'd be up this morning but you had slept like the dead all day." He leaned back in his seat, retracting his hand as he went. "Yesterday must have really tired you out."

Garrett couldn't necessarily deny that claim. He assumed the previous soldier on shift had already reported his restlessness through the night. He grumbled quietly and shifted the blanket in his grasp, letting it fall to his lap as he smoothed the fabric out in small stretches of his palms. His fingers flexed, popping softly from stiffness as they relaxed. His gaze lifted from the menial task he'd settled on when Curnow spoke again. 

"Are you up to it today?" Garrett nodded before the officer could continue. He paused before offering a sagely reminder. "There's no shame in taking a break Garrett. Every man has his limitations." The words died on the officer's lips when the thief leveled a glare at him that could pierce ice. He belted out a laugh. A grin spreading as he dusted his hands and stood up. "I guess that answers that."

It took both Curnow and the soldier to help Garrett to his feet. After yesterday's excursion, he was almost too stiff to move. A myriad of pops and cracks protested at his movement, earning a bitten off groan from Garrett. He ignored the discomfort as Curnow chuckled. "You certainly are a stubborn one." Garrett ignored the commentary and started walking. He kept his hand on the wall and balanced his way over to the doors. Curnow stood by his side, a guiding hand occasionally touching his shoulder always ready to catch him if he fell. 

Once the initial warm up was over, he was able to straighten his back more. One hand stayed close to the wall as he hobbled, picking up pace and starting a rhythm that felt more normal or as close as he could get. He had to swing his leg to the side to get it to move without dragging. He was eager for the infernal brace to be taken off so he could stretch more fully but the cramps that welled up halfway down the hall were a bleak reminder of his efforts. He breathed through the pain, twisting to face the wall as both hands braced himself, his left leg bearing all the weight now. Curnow's hand rested between his shoulder blades while he waited, a silent reassurance. Garrett caught a glimpse of the frown that knitted his brows but Garrett continued, shouldering away the man's touch and continuing as directed.

The hallway was a deep royal blue with golden inlay outlining the subtle features. Large paintings of notable royalty and military personnel lined the walls, each painted in a similar style with immense attention to detail. It wasn't until he leaned against the wall just below one of the gilded frames that he noticed the artist's mark. 

_ Sokolov _

Garrett gawked at that. His brows furrowed at the painting of a regale woman posing in a garden. Her dark hair pinned up elegantly, a long black and white gown caressed her body accentuating the poise and stature. Sharp shoulders and a calm determination illuminated her features. A row of flowering bushes covered in large pink blooms added a noble softness to the entire image. The warm lighting that bathed the afternoon scenery was welcoming as if the woman herself was greeting the viewer. The frame had a carved message at the base.

_ Her Majesty Jessamine Kaldwin _

He knew the Empire was ruled by an Empress, it was one of the few things he could recall of the little knowledge he had about the place. The Baron wasn't fond of dealing with the neighboring country and he assumed the feeling was mutual. They rarely saw Imperials crossing the border and on the extremely rare occasion merchants from the land would enter the city to barter goods to the nobility. Enticing them with exotic beauties that were presumably over priced in Garrett's opinion but that made for better coin after he'd relieved them from their owners.

He pushed away from the wall and mustered his balance once more. With a deep breath he continued shuffling along the marble stretch. The stone was cool beneath his bare feet, a strangely pleasant sensation after so long in the rough cold iron cages. He reached a spare hand up to snag a wayward strand of black hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear with a sigh. He cursed the rather obvious necessity for a bath as his fingers brushed the oily texture. The warm wet rags he'd been using to clean up with weren't cutting it. 

Curnow appeared content to follow, only speaking up when directing Garrett on where to go and assuring him they were _ almost there. _ He scowled, wondering where exactly the officer was taking him. They turned a corner and headed down the length of the wall bypassing several closed doors that Garrett felt an itch of curiosity towards. He could hear the occasional voice coming from a couple of them, muffled with unfamiliar syllables joined together. The room they were aimed for was at the end of the hall on the opposite side from where Garrett was leaning. Curnow offered an arm for the thief to balance on but Garrett dismissed it with a wave and straightened up, shuffling the short distance across to lean against the wall next to it. One hand braced the frame for support as his legs trembled beneath him. Sweat beaded at his back as he took a moment to compose himself. The hallway was unusually stuffy, making the overly large shirt cling to his shoulders. He tugged at the collar and sucked in a sharp breath, ushering out a slow exhale. 

Curnow raised a brow at the thief, taking in his disheveled appearance. Garrett narrowed his eyes at the man then straightened up. His mismatched eyes following him as he knocked promptly. A voice called back from within, a deep rumbling timbre that sparked a ticklish recognition in the back of Garrett's head. He turned to face the officer who switched to his mother tongue upon opening the door. He held it for Garrett to follow, waiting until the thief was all the way inside before shutting the door.

"Take a seat Garrett. Rest your leg." Curnow ordered briefly. The room shared the same royal blue decor as the hallway with the exception of lighter blue splashes that broke up the shadows. A large dark wood desk sat prominently on one side with two leather backed chairs in front of it and a larger more comfortable looking chair on the opposite end. In it sat the General whom Garrett had drawn his bow on during the raid.

He felt like ice cold water had been poured down his back as he stumbled backwards nearly tripping on his braced leg. Curnow reached out to catch him with a flash of reflexes as Garrett flailed in his grasp. The officer helped him correct his balance and guided him to sit with furrowed concern. Garrett waved him off, turning towards the man as he hissed under his breath before Curnow could even speak. 

"_ Taffer!" _

Curnow looked confused, wracking his brain for some sort of answer as to what that meant exactly but came up short. His gaze flitted towards the General who offered an amused smile. He was roughly how Garrett remembered him. Big as shit, broadly built with long brown hair swept back out of his face. It wasn't quite on Garrett's level but it was close. He wore a blue jacket with gold embroidery similar to the rest of the officers he'd seen but this man's had a fold over the front that was always buckled shut with a large white collar and what appeared to be a hood tucked over his shoulders. It looked like a long series of complicated buckles, belts and clasps that Garrett could sympathize with given his own gear. His hands were covered by a set of black leather gloves now neatly folded on the desk. Whatever work he'd been in the middle of had been quickly abandoned for the new distraction they imposed.

A smile quirked on his lips, the strong jawline accented by the light shadowing of stubble growing in. Soft brown eyes appraised Garrett silently, taking in his disheveled appearance much the same as Curnow had before deciding upon some silent agreement. To which Garrett frowned.


	7. Conflicting Comforts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe decides its time to embarrass the crap out of Garrett and make him question his life choices. Cause its fun.

"Garrett, this is General Corvo Attano." Curnow broke the silence with the introduction, testing the tension that had the thief wound up tightly in his seat. Garrett glared at the man over the desk, a look that seemed to only amuse him more. He knew he had a bad feeling about this whole trip. It wasn't necessarily the interrogation he'd anticipated but the discomfort was there. Curnow had been trying to get him to talk for days now, his frequency in his attempts only growing more. It was only a matter of time before the officer grew impatient with his silence and resorted to other tactics.

He folded his arms in front of his chest and tucked himself smaller in the chair. The officers looked at one another before resuming a conversation Garrett couldn't understand. He caught his name in small bits but that was the only familiarity offered. It was Curnow who addressed him after several minutes but Garrett's attention was fixed on General Attano as he bent behind the desk and provided the thief's bow. One by one, each piece of his gear was piled on the man's desk with care. He felt his heart crawl into his throat. 

"We know what you are." Curnow informed. A clinical neutrality had been adopted in his tone as Garrett watched his claw and lockpicks be added. The quiver he had held onto for dear life in the back of the wagon, carefully cleaned up now and laid next to his bow. Garrett swallowed thickly as General Attano spoke to the Captain. Garrett shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fingers balling into fists as a cold sweat prickled his back. Heat rushed upon his face, a nauseating swell accompanied by deep seated panic. Surely they wouldn't have cared so much for a common criminal if they'd known. Unless they wanted something from him. He doubted the Imperial military enjoyed dabbling in the affairs of thieves. They seemed to be the kind to execute said thieves on the spot if the quick and ruthless dispatching of the slavers was anything to go by.

"As I've said before, General Attano was impressed with your actions. The other slaves spoke highly of you and your bravery Garrett." Curnow continued. Garrett frowned, confusion clouding his face before he could catch it, reining it back carefully as he considered the two officers. This didn't sound like it was going the way he anticipated.

"A single man executing one daring escape after another." Curnow accepted one of the offered papers from the General, reading the statements taken from the other survivors. "You fought off rabid wolfhounds, escaped your chains and cage numerous times, outran slavers on horseback and even swam across a raging river against all odds." Garrett stifled the snort at the last one. He didn't consider nearly drowning and being saved by a dog to be considered  _ brave.  _ The other captives certainly had a mind for exaggeration and creative freedom. 

"Even while severely wounded, you exhibited the willingness to save your fellow man in the midst of battle. You showed exemplary skill and determination and went above and beyond the call of duty." Curnow added.

_ Wait...what?! _ Garrett's frown increased, a growing hysteria that bubbled in his chest. He cocked a brow at General Attano, daring the answer to manifest itself before him. The Trickster must have been having a fit somewhere in his lair as the Captain spoke what Garrett had been dreading. 

"We're not inept in our station Garrett. We recognize a military scout when we see one." He gestured at the equipment before them. Garrett let out a choked noise, a conflicted sound between a cough and a laugh. He covered his mouth and heaved out the rough exchange, clearing his throat to quiet the ticklish amusement in his gut. He wasn't going to correct them, that was for certain. If they wanted to mistake him for a military scout then so be it. It was better than the consequences of exposing his true nature. Curnow rested a hand on his back to ease his coughing fit. Garrett dismissed it with a disgruntled cough, shaking his head at the man.

"No harm will come to you Garrett. In fact, General Attano would like to extend his assistance to help you recover as a show of appreciation for your efforts." He gestured to the General who waited expectantly. The mirth in his smile was genuine and Garrett couldn't help the tiny shred of guilt that kindled in his gut. It technically  _ wasn't  _ a lie. They conjured up this preposterous conclusion on their own. He was at no fault here. Still, if whatever ridiculous thoughts that filled their heads would help him get home, then why shouldn't he utilize the offer? If it got him back to Basso and Jenivere then so be it.

Garrett raised a brow at the two men, carefully considering their anticipation. He turned his attention to the General but spoke to Curnow, hoping he would translate. "What kind of assistance?" His voice was a low rasp to his own ears from prolonged disuse. He had kept his silence out of necessity to keep his tongue then played the fool upon rescue. Silence was golden so far and his attempts to slide under their radar had landed him more firmly in their sights. It was an unpleasant turn of events that he hoped he could turn to his advantage.

He listened as the General spoke up, his words meant little to the thief while he waited for Curnow's translation. "General Attano would like to offer to teach you our language. It is an offer that's been extended to the other survivors as well. He would also like to provide you with your own room while you recover and eventually a job if you'd like."

"I thought you were sending us all home." Garrett countered. 

"For those that wish to return, that is on the table still. But arranging for safe passage takes time and resources. Until then, the survivors have been given places to live and jobs befitting of their trades. For those without one, they are learning the basics of easy work that could prepare them for their return home." Curnow explained swiftly with all the air of a soldier providing a report.

Garrett rolled the idea around in his head, considering his own position as it was. He didn't exactly have an applicable skill that would be made worthwhile for these men. That's even if he was still useful once his leg was healed. Sokolov had promised a permanent limp and Garrett was already anticipating the obstacles to come. His hand wandered to his leg, fingers brushing over the brace with a defeated sigh. "It's not like I've got someplace to be I guess."

"Alright then." Curnow chimed pleasantly before he switched from Garrett's language back to their mother tongue, proceeding to converse with the General for several more minutes. Garrett was left to wallow in the chair until Curnow promptly left. Garrett jolted in his seat, head snapping towards the door as it shut behind the officer. The thunk on the General's desk demanded his attention as the man held up a hand in a placating gesture. Garrett took that as meaning he would wait there. The General eyed him for some time as the thief forced himself to relax. He watched as Attano moved his equipment off the desk into what sounded like a crate on the other side just out of Garrett's view before proceeding to finish his paperwork.

Garrett posted his elbow against the arm of the chair, resting his chin in his palm while he waited. Minutes felt like hours with the quiet shifting of papers interrupting the silence. It reminded Garrett of lying on the sofa in the Burrick cellar listening to Basso work. There was no quiet banter between him and the General, no private jokes or playful looks that would cause the pair to fall into a fit of laughter as if on command. Just the sterile silence of monotony. Time dragged on and before Garrett knew it, his head started to nod and his eyes slip shut. He fought the quiet bobbing as sleep crept up on him, biting his lip and shifting in the seat to wake himself up more. The quiet crackle of the fire place on the far side of the wall kept the room warm and the afternoon light that pooled in shifted to evening shadows.

Garrett startled when a knock came at the door, twisting in his seat to see who it was. Attano didn't even look up from his papers as he called them in. The door opened exposing the young woman from the kitchen, the former bird. She and another older woman entered with trays in hand. The older woman carried her's towards the General's desk, setting it down on the end away from his papers. The bird adjusted the chair beside Garrett to place the tray within easy reach of him. Garrett inspected the bowl of thick hearty venison stew with warm bread on the side. His stomach rumbled at the familiar scent that lured a painful yearning in his chest. 

"A taste of home. I hope you like it." The bird murmured to him, catching the softened expression on his face. She smiled a genuine sympathetic smile before being ushered out quickly by the older maid.

Garrett glanced up towards Attano but the General was half heartedly stirring his cup of tea, attention split between the warm drink and the report in front of him. He moved the tray from the seat and balanced it carefully in his lap, taking the hot bowl in hand as he stirred the spoon through it, dispersing the steam that curled up to his nostrils. The bread was still lightly warm and soft under his touch, a drizzle of honey softly tinting the crust a golden hue. He tore a piece away to dip into the broth, relishing the flavors that spread across his tongue. The familiarity brought something acutely heart wrenching to the forefront of his mind. One of the last meals he ate with Jenivere was her venison stew. Be it a twisted cruelty from the Trickster or the homesick actions of a young woman, Garrett didn't care to dwell much on it. He swallowed the rough ball of emotion in his throat, blinked back the tears as he took the spoon in hand and scooped out the first bite. 

"It tastes like Jenivere's." He murmured after a moment while stirring the spoon around to cool the broth. His words appeared to attract the General's attention but only briefly. Garrett ignored the man's peculiar look while he ate, occasionally wiping the dampness from his eyes when it'd creep up on him. He sniffled softly, focusing more on his food than the man observing his moment of weakness. The General could be damned for all he cared and he shared that sentiment until the tray was empty and his belly was full. His heart bubbled with sentimental warmth and the heat of the room worked its magic to lull him into a blissful weary state. The tray was returned to the spare seat beside him while he shifted to a more comfortable position. His arms folded over his chest as he leaned back to stare at the ceiling as darkness bathed the city. Sleep was a temptress and he was an unwary traveler in her embrace. 

* * *

  
  


Garrett blinked up at the ceiling, eyes drinking in the royal blue fabric of a canopy bed shading him from the warmth of light pooling between the curtains. The room was mostly dark, shielded by the drawn curtains of the large window on the far wall. The simplistic beige coloring of the walls was a startling change from the rest of the building's design that he'd seen so far. The marble floors were broken up with scattered rugs in tones of golds and tans with a set of chairs settled around the adjacent fireplace and a single table between. A pitcher of water and a glass sat on the bedside table. A white basin was nestled on the dresser and a clean set of clothes were set out for him. The heavy weight of the blankets was an odd sensation against his chest as he pushed the covers back to sit up. Pillows crowded at his back and he noticed one had been tucked under his right leg to support the bend of his knee.

Lifting the blanket, he inspected the strange absence of the brace. He could only assume Sokolov had paid him a visit after Attano's office. The dull ache that tormented him for most of the previous day had faded with the frustratingly familiar tingle of the doctor's magic and medicine. Twisting his leg slowly to the side, he noted his stitches had been removed and replaced with the bright pink lines of newly healed skin. 

Garrett frowned down at the blankets upon realizing he had no recollection of how he got here. The last thing he recalled was falling asleep in the General's office. He could easily assume his previous endeavors had simply worn him out too much and the emotional toll of everything so far was catching up with him. He sighed, nestling back into the warmth of the blankets and the soft cradle of an unfairly comfortable mattress at his back. His bed in the bell tower wasn't as cozy as this but it was doable for his needs and at the end of a long night of work, had been the sanctuary for his weary bones.

He shifted to get his head comfortable against the pillows, watching the crack of light slowly inch across the wall from the window. His eyes started to slip shut when the door opened with a slow creak, causing him to stiffen in place. He looked over in time to catch the curious head of the Captain peeking into the room. When their eyes met, he smiled broadly. "I see you're finally awake." He greeted, stepping further into the room to shut the door behind himself. "You've been asleep for two days."

Garrett frowned at that, posting his hands on either side of himself to drag up into a seated position while Curnow continued. "Dr. Sokolov assured me you'd no longer need the brace and could start properly strengthening your leg again." The Captain came to stand beside the bed, studious eyes taking in Garrett's healthier appearance. There was noticeable progress since the night he'd been brought in by wagon. He was filling out where starvation had thinned and a healthier flush was starting to surface on his skin. He didn't look as tired as he had the first few days and he was certainly more energetic with food in his belly and a good night of sleep.

"You feel like walking today?" He finally asked after a moment of pause. Garrett cocked a brow at him, parted his lips to speak then stopped and thought better of it. The Captain anticipated his curiosity as he gestured back towards the door. "I thought you might appreciate a proper bath. There's a bathing room right down the hall."

Garrett perked up a little at that, glancing towards the dresser where the fresh clean clothes awaited him. Curnow chuckled. “I can escort you there.” Moving towards the dresser as he gathered the clothes under arm, taking the top drawer and fishing out a small cloth sack with toiletries inside before turning back towards the bed. He rested the belongings on the end of the bed where he could reach them, addressing Garrett who had started to get up. He carefully swung his right leg over the edge, wincing as he bent his knee for the first time in what felt like months. The joint groaned in protest, eliciting an uncomfortable pop as both feet met the cold marble. Curnow held out an arm to offer the thief balance. Garrett reluctantly accepted it before pushing himself upright.

There wasn’t as much pain as he had expected. It was sore and stiff from lying still for so long. He stood in a way that resembled a flamingo as he balanced on his left and bent his right leg, working the joint slowly to limber up before applying the barest amount of weight on it. There was a jolt of pain with the first couple test steps but it faded to a dull ache in his bones. The more he moved the less it hurt.

Curnow collected Garrett’s belongings and started the very long slow trip to the door and out into the hallway. Garrett was met with the same royal blue and gold interior that he suspected was everywhere in the Tower. There were a small handful of guards that had passed by, some off duty, some on patrol and some carrying out menial errands around the Tower. Curnow was surprisingly patient with Garrett, stopping when the thief needed a break and waiting as he flexed his leg and cradled it above the ground to relieve the pressure on the weak muscles.

They were halfway down the hallway and taking the fourth break in progress when one of the doors behind them opened. Garrett was busy leaning against the wall to keep himself upright to look properly. Curnow’s broad build blocked out any easy view he had but the man spoke up cheerfully in greeting. The name that slipped through the unfamiliar language made Garrett startle. He leaned around Curnow to spot the General standing on the other side of the captain. He was dressed casually in a pair of dark trousers and a white linen shirt. The bundle of fabric wrapped up and tucked under his arm was the only evidence of where he was headed. Curnow gestured towards the thief, drawing Garrett’s attention to their conversation before he turned to address the smaller man.

“The General has offered to assist you.” Curnow explained. “In your state, it might be hard to get in and out of the baths. Is that alright?”

Garrett huffed softly in frustration, glancing around Curnow to take in the appraising smile aimed his way. The General was cool, calm and still as intimidating as ever. He’d hate to say it, but Garrett had grown accustomed to Curnow’s less threatening and familiar presence that the thought of being left alone with the General made him squirm with discomfort. He rolled his eyes after a moment and sighed, his voice still a brittle rasp. “Not like I’ve got much choice.” He turned his eyes down towards the floor where he inspected the scarring of his calf peeking out from beneath the hemmed trousers. Curnow seemed pleased with the utterance, amusement rekindled in his voice as he proceeded to talk with Attano.

They continued their walk to the bathing room at the end of the hall. It was a wide set of double doors on the other side of a set of stairs, just tucked out of view. Potted plants rested on either side of the frame with large decorative golden handles that required some effort to push open. Curnow guided Garrett in while Attano held the door for them before trailing up behind.

It was bigger than Garrett anticipated. Smooth tile floor greeted his bare feet, cool under the touch and somewhat slick from the moisture in the air. A series of showers lined one wall with stalls separating them apart from one another, wooden stools were set near a low counter built into the wall with a pile of fresh towels neatly folded and awaiting use. In the center of the room was a large marble stone tub with steps leading up to the sides and stone bench seating inside for several people to soak at once. It was decorated with ornate engravings that looked like painstakingly carved patterns of leaves and branches that stretched up around the exterior ring.

Curnow lingered long enough to help the General explain the routine and etiquette involved in the bathing rooms. They were to shower first, cleaning the worst of the filth off before settling into the bath. The water had a lightly scented aroma added to it which Curnow explained was from special salts that was added to cleanse and relax the body. There was some mention in there of special healing properties but in the end, it like most things Garrett had come to discover, was another fancy discovery and invention crafted at the hands of Sokolov and the Institute of Natural Philosophers. For all Curnow seemed to care, it could be run by pure magic and he wouldn’t question it as long as his aches and pains faded at the end of a long day.

Curnow strode away towards the marble baths, turning the metal faucets that welled up from the center, causing a flood of water to rush out of three spouts like a fountain. The steam rolled off the surface as the water filled the tub. In the meantime, Garrett felt a gentle hand tap his shoulder to get his attention, drawing him back to the task at hand. The General was standing expectantly beside Garrett, his white linen shirt was already shucked off, exposing the expanse of warm bronze flesh, crisscrossed with a road map of scars that covered his shoulders, pecs and abdomen. Shallow cuts from knives, deeper wider injuries at the ends of swords and large scraping abrasions mingling with many smaller more erratic marks of white scarring that told the stories of accidents and mishaps not quite related to the throes of battle.

Garrett glanced at the hand that gently tugged at his sleeve, his eyes drawn to the General’s left hand where he no longer wore gloves. A strange black mark was etched into his skin, a soft shimmer of energy pulling at him when his fingers brushed against Garrett’s bare skin. The primal pulled back, a gentle heat stirring behind his eye almost as if in recognition. It was unlike the repulsed response at Sokolov's imitation magic, instead a respectful thrum of acknowledgement in it's true nature. This was the first time Garrett had seen someone’s mark of magic other than his own. He knew Jenivere and her acquaintance had oath marks swearing fealty to the Trickster and his coven, but he had never seen them. All of them had been cleverly concealed beneath fabric. A luxury Garrett didn’t have. His gaze followed the fingers, a little too closely as they tugged again. Attano’s other hand scooped under his chin to snag his attention away from the mark. Garrett flinched and turned away, nearly stumbling off balance when he tried to take a step back but Attano grabbed his arm and steadied him.

The heat of embarrassment that flooded his cheeks made Garrett grumble obscenities under his breath at the man. Another gentle tug on his shirt pushed the request across loud and clear. Another bitten off curse fumbled from his lips as he reached to remove the night shirt he’d been dressed in. The man aided him, helping him lift it over his head without getting tangled up in the overly large swath of fabric. 

The lean stretch of pale skin flexed with the musculature of a man well trained. Garrett hadn’t been inept enough to lose most of his muscle mass in the time he was captive. He wasn’t as firm or filled out as he had been, what had turned to excess had been burned by starvation giving him an unhealthy sort of posture. Like a ragged old alley cat. His body, much like Attano’s, was covered in the tracks of misfortunes. The stretch of white lines wasn’t as obvious. He had very few run ins with blades but a few wayward arrows had met his skin, the broader patches of drag marks on his ribcage where he had once fallen from an icy rooftop during the early years of his life. His gear was ill equipped and not as padded as it was now, shredded by the coarse rotting wood and the harsh bite of uneven ice that tore into his side and ripped through thin fabric.

The man’s brown eyes softened as they slid towards the branding. The small mark of the bird stood out, a stark contrast of black scorching into a palate of white. His thumb brushed over the mark, ever so gently as a large hand cradled his elbow. Garrett winced, a phantom pain that tingled up his arm. Attano paused, retracting his hand from the space before offering them to steady the thief. His eyes shifted from Garrett’s arm, giving an expectant look towards the trousers. Garrett scowled at the implication and the sheer embarrassment at the situation. He knew better than to argue and gave in, letting Attano’s strong hands steady him while he worked the trousers and small clothes down past his wounded leg. Balancing his weight on his bad leg caused a groan to rush from his chest and he moved quickly to get it over with, leaning his weight back onto his left leg.

Garrett never noticed when Curnow had left. He shut the water off before he had upon the fulness of the bath but gave no word of his retreat leaving the pair alone in the overly large room. Garrett felt small and inferior compared to the General and the sheer size and stature of the man. He was an intimidating presence, like being face to face with a bear. Not quite dangerous at first but the coil of muscles, the power that exudes from him despite the friendlier more open posture he offered was overshadowed by the memory burned into the front of his mind. 

The image of the General standing over Garrett in the orchard, blood drenched with the smile of a predator. The gleam of teeth and a hunger in his eyes that could only be quenched with the absolute death of the slavers. Yes, there was a gentleness to the man. The cautious handling he showed in disarming Garrett but the thief was uncertain that it had been true and not a figment of his imagination after the shock of what he’d gone through.

Of course, the General gave no hint that he would cause Garrett any form of harm. The man had been surprisingly cordial to the thief even if his assumptions had been false and he was under the impression that Garrett was something he was not. That nagging feeling of guilt returned, eating at his mind as he was reminded of the respectful care Attano showed in his office. The warmth in his smile as Curnow extended his assistance, the contentment of letting Garrett linger and revel in the warmth of the room and the food of his home.

Even now. The concern that flickered in his softened expression. The tiny smile he offered as he lowered Garrett to a stool beneath the shower head to let him relax while the water was tempered. The way he took to his own stall out of respect so the thief could tend to himself in the warm spray, washing his hair with the bar of goat's milk soap from his toiletries, scrubbing the tacky oily feeling from his skin. He hadn’t noticed he’d spaced out until the water was shut off and the bar had left his fingers, lying on the floor by his feet seemingly forgotten in his mental traipsing. He lifted his head and felt the heat rush up upon his face as Attano stood, completely unclothed in front of him. His hands on Garrett’s shoulders to pull him to his feet and steady him on the slick floor. Garrett fought to keep his eyes above the man’s pecs, ignoring the beast he’d caught a glimpse of below the man’s belt.

Garrett wasn’t normally self-conscious about his body. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He was a well fit young man and had worked hard to get where he was. Er, well, before the enslavement and all. He was strong and capable of feats most could only dream of with skill and flexibility that would usher jealousy from most in his profession. He could climb and run faster than any of the other thieves and could easily out pace and outsmart any guard or beast he’s encountered. Be it watchmen or harpies, he could foil any attempts to catch him. He felt no shame for his smaller size, seeing it as a perk for his job and if height couldn’t get him something, his skilled fingers and limber toes could secure it far better. He wasn’t a fighter by any means so bulk was never necessary and he could climb ropes with his arms alone.

But the General was a man of great stature and apparently many blessings by whatever God he apparently serves. It was hard to ignore when Garrett had, only moments ago, been eye level with the man’s  _ weapon _ . Attano hadn’t really seemed bothered by his absence of modesty and he felt no concern or possible awareness for Garrett’s steadily growing discomfort. He wondered if a lifetime of service in the military had implemented such confidence or obliviousness. A man who spent all his time sharing the claustrophobic spaces with other nameless men and their lack of luxury in personal boundaries. It seemed fair knowledge. 

He cleared his throat, eyes darting towards the tub that awaited them if only to make Attano move so that Garrett was no longer in peripheral view of the man’s  _ implements. _ It took a moment but it seemed to finally click in the General’s head and the apologetic smile aimed at him was only mildly genuine. The rest was steeped in cruel mirth at Garrett’s reaction. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the chapter, don't forget to kudos and comment below! I really do appreciate all feedback! It helps keep me motivated and puts a smile on my face to hear your guys' thoughts on the story so far! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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